I slipped my sunglasses back down. “So, what do you make of that?”
“That it’s no wonder Hank’s Hotspot is stealing Margarita’s business. But it’s so surprising that there’d be a place like that in a town such as this.”
“Well, you just never can tell. We should touch base with Margarita before we decide where to go next.”
Dixie strolled along the sidewalk with a sway of her hip, earning a wolf whistle from Daniel Adams, who was walking by. I just shook my head. Instead of the whistle riling up Dixie, it riled me up instead.
“That’s kinda immature don’t you think?” I asked.
Daniel smirked. “If you girls don’t want us men to whistle at you, then why do you walk like that?”
“Oh, so just because a woman walks like a ... girl, it gives you permission to treat her like a sex object?”
Dixie giggled. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. Did you?”
Daniel took a sip of the hot cocoa he held. “Naw, but I just knew it would make you mad, Sassy. It’s so easy to push your buttons.”
“He’s got you there, Tammy, but for the record, it’s not the wisest thing to make her mad. She’s wicked with a right hook.”
“Oh? I can’t see that. Women aren’t strong enough to put a drop on a man. Not a real man, that is.”
My brow arched sharply. “And I suppose you consider yourself a real man ... because?”
“You might walk all over those men back home, but it won’t happen here, I can assure you. The last woman who tried to hit me landed on her backside.”
I glared at him. “Oh, so you beat women, is that it? Is that how you boys up north handle yourselves?”
“Not hardly, but a man does have a right to defend himself.”
I brushed past him and he flipped me onto the ground. As I laid on the cold snow, I saw red. I scrambled to my feet, but Daniel had distanced himself from us. “What in the hell did you do that for?”
“To prove that I can. Something to think about before you tangle with me again.” Daniel turned on his heels and strode away before I could scream or attack him.
Dixie bit down on her lips until a trickle of blood escaped. “What on earth is your problem?” I asked her.
She bent over as a belly laugh escaped. “Sorry, but I about tossed my cookies when he flipped you. Good thing it was only into a pile of soft snow.”
I brushed myself off and glared at Dixie. “Oh, and you don’t see anything wrong with that man doing that to me? It was an unprovoked attack.”
“Well, you did almost skewer the man just yesterday. I think he paid you back, is all.”
I straightened to my full height of five foot two, and strutted away with my head held high. Once I got to Hidden Pass, there was a long line extending down the sidewalk with a pickup truck that had a red flashing bubble light. The words on the side of the truck read ‘fire marshal.’
I made way toward the door, but a man with a long coat barred our way. “The restaurant is filled to capacity. You’ll have to wait at the back of the line.”
I couldn’t imagine what was going on until Dixie nudged me in the ribs. “That’s a good thing. Our Cajun cooking must have taken off.”
Margarita ran from the restaurant and ushered us around to back and in through the back door. “You girls are a couple of geniuses. No sooner had we served our first few customers than the place packed up with patrons. So far, the Gumbo seems to be a crowd favorite. I had to send one of the cooks back to the market for more supplies.”
The gumbo pot that was cooking outside was half empty. It’s no wonder the customers came so quick. They smelled the Cajun spices in the air.
“So, I suppose that means you’ll be busy most of the day?”
“Of course. What were you girls up to today?”
“We got the chili entered, but I just wonder if the contest is fixed. I mean, Nancy tried to reassure us that it was going to be fair, but as soon as we walked away, that Milton fella was back at the stand.”
“I can’t say if it’s rigged, but that Milton will stop at nothing to win that contest.”
“I don’t understand. The winner only gets a trophy, right?”
Margarita snickered. “Oh, no. The winner receives five thousand dollars. It’s sponsored this year by a restaurant in Detroit. They’ll be paying a cash prize for the winning recipe.”
I frowned. “Why would you hand over the recipe to them instead of serving it at your own restaurant?”
She buried a finger in her chin. “I never thought about it that way, but five thousand is quite a prize, isn’t it?”
“They’d be hard pressed to follow any recipe of ours,” Dixie said. “All we did was toss in a bunch of spare ingredients.”
I nodded. “You got that one right. And besides, I have no intention of letting some fancy restaurant get ahold of my smarts for cooking.”
Margarita threw up her hands. “I just don’t understand your reasoning. You don’t have to give them the real recipe, just a version of it,” she said with a wink.
“How well do you know this Nancy?”
“She works at the sheriff’s department and she plays bingo every Thursday night at Saint Matthew’s.”
“I mean, is she trustworthy? I almost got the impression that she was holding back on us when we questioned her.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Just that we should keep quiet about the murder in town.”
“I’m sure she just didn’t want to worry folks around here, that’s all.”
“I suppose. She also mentioned that we should talk to Marilyn’s friend Roxie Roxx.”
“I didn’t know Marilyn had any friends, but I suppose she might have met some at Curls and Cuts.”
“Oh, so you don’t know Roxie, then?”
“That name’s a new one on me. What’s your point?”
“It’s a small town and I just figured you might have heard about her. She claims to be a teacher.”
“Claims?” Dixie roared in laughter. “I swear you think she might really be a stripper.”
“Stripper? In this town? We don’t have any place like that in town.”
I lifted a finger in the air. “That’s not completely true. Word has it that Hank’s Hotspot opens its back room for a stripper show after six.”
Margarita’s face whitened. “Oh, my. I can’t imagine what would happen if word got out about that one.”
“Back to Nancy. She made a strange comment.”
“Like what?” Margarita asked, all ears.
“That if Clayton was Nancy’s husband, she’d have taken him out.”
“Like to dinner?”
“No, like to the undertaker,” I said.
“Oh, my. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by that. You know how women can talk sometimes.”
“It got me to thinking about Marilyn. Do you think she’d have done anything rash to her husband?”
“We haven’t been all that close, but I can’t imagine her harming a flea. You girls are on the wrong track.”
“How about a bow. Does she know how to use one?”
Margarita shook her head. “Nope, I won’t believe that Marilyn would harm her husband. Is that all you have to go on?”
“So far, but we’ll have to nose around at Hank’s Hotspot.”
“Great. I’ll go with you girls. You know, for backup, just in case the coppers show up.”
I smiled widely. I’m so glad I had learned years ago not to roll my eyes, lest I get a slap upside my head from my Granny LaLaurie. She was as prim and proper as they come, and a lady to the core, but she didn’t back down from anyone ever. She always told me that a woman needs to have a backbone and should never back down from a fight, but neither should she start one. Granny was quite well-to-do and owned a slew of antique shops throughout Louisiana, although some considered her bat-shit crazy. Somehow my entire family was able to bury the fact that we’re related to the notorious Madame LaLauri
e, who was reputed to have tortured her slaves, although she was able to escape Louisiana somehow. It was something we were brought up not to talk about.
Chapter Seven
Margarita closed the restaurant at eight o’clock and appeared ten minutes later, dressed in a blue pantsuit. She patted her gray hair and asked me, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glanced down at my jeans and lacy top and shrugged. “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”
“Well, your girls are showing.”
Okay, so I was showing a little cleavage, but I didn’t see that as a big deal. Dixie wore a button-up silver shirt with black slacks, and her hair was teased to the max.
“Seriously? I thought I had left the Bible belt.”
“Sorry, I just didn’t want anyone to think we’re going there for a job, that’s all.”
I led the way to the SUV, not bothering to say a word. I just didn’t see her point. Who in their right mind would think I was stripper material? So, I might have more than an ample bosom, but these days most strippers were more on the small-busted side, unless they had enhancement surgery.
Once we settled inside, I drove to Hank’s Hotspot. The lot was packed and I had to circle the block before I found a spot on the opposite curb. We exited the SUV and slipped and slid our way across the icy, snow-covered street.
When we strode through the door, we were stopped almost immediately by a woman seated in the corner. “Sorry, we’re closed,” she said.
I stretched up to my full height. “We were told that there’s a party in the back room.”
The woman stood and made her way over to us. She stared us up and down. “If you want to call it that, but unless you’re here for a job, I can’t see you girls going inside.”
Margarita laughed. “That’s it. Tammy here needs a good job. As you can see, she’s stacked for it.”
I grimaced. “Don’t mind Grandma, she’s got it all wrong. We’re here for the entertainment, unless it’s a crime for females to watch strippers dance.”
“Not at all. I just wasn’t sure Grandma would be into something like that.”
“Obviously, you don’t know me very well,” Margarita said with a sly smile.
The woman opened the back door and we shuffled inside, not knowing what to expect. Inside, the room was dimly lit with tables as red as the stage in the front of the room and chairs and the bar in black. Ceiling fans spun from above, swaying the red fabric curtains that covered the walls. Sexy music blared from speakers near the stage, where a woman gyrated. The crowd varied. Men were packed tightly near the stage at small tables, while couples sat further away, observing.
We moved together as one to the bar. I elbowed Margarita and Dixie away, and we sat on the swivel barstools. Dixie waved over the bartender, who wore skinny jeans and a white shirt opened to the waist and had a military-style hairstyle.
“Hello, ladies. What can I get you?” he asked.
“Besides your number, you mean?” Margarita questioned with a wink.
I had to smile. “Yes, give her your number.”
He laughed. “The management frowns on that, but I’d be happy to fetch you drinks.”
Margarita frowned. “Aww. Well, I suppose that will have to suffice. Bring us all margaritas.”
I nodded. “Oh, why not.”
The bartender left and I nudged Margarita. “Calm down. We’re here to investigate.”
Margarita’s shoulders slumped. “Aww. It’s been years since I’ve seen any man that looked like that. I really need to figure out a way to draw in the younger crowd.”
“You don’t need to do it this way. Today was successful,” I insisted.
“Yes, it sure was. If only I could do that everyday, but I need to be realistic. I’ll be lucky if I can keep open another year.”
I patted Margarita’s hand affectionately. “Don’t worry. I’m sure things with come around.”
“And if they don’t?”
“You could always move south,” Dixie suggested.
“I hardly have funds to do that, and I don’t know anyone who lives in the south.”
“You know us,” I volunteered.
Just then, the bartender returned with the drinks. “Tell me what you think?”
I took a sip and it was surprisingly good. “Wow, I’m impressed.”
“Let’s just say I spent some time in Mexico.”
“Oh, you don’t look Mexican,” Margarita said.
“Hispanic, you mean,” I corrected her.
She waved a hand. “All this political correctness gives me gas.”
I knew she spoke the truth. The older generation had been around long enough that they lived through civil rights, war demonstrations, and economic woes. Sure, some of them had their backwards views, but they were still to be respected. If I could do anything to help Margarita out, I would. She deserved the best after all she’d been though with her ex-husband and their financial issues. I had to meet this man first-hand or my name wasn’t Tammy Rodrigue— or Louisiana Sassy, which most people (even Dixie) called me these days.
The bartender moved to leave, but I stopped him. “I was wondering if Clayton Percy came in here regularly?”
“You talking about the dead guy?” he asked, eyeballing me.
“Yes. We’re investigating his murder—independently from the sheriff’s department.”
“Why?”
Margarita slapped the bar. “Now, listen here young man. I’m a citizen of Bear Paw and I don’t like the idea of some killer running around. Do you?”
“Well, no, but Clayton wasn’t exactly the most liked man in town.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“He cheated on his wife for one, and it wasn’t like he tried to hide the fact.”
“That hardly makes him unlikable. People don’t care about that sort of thing these days.”
“Not unless he happened to sleep with your girl,” he said with a straight face.
“Oh, really? Was he some kind of hot guy?”
Margarita punched Dixie in the arm, laughing. “Hardly. He had a comb-over and a beer gut.”
“I happen to love a man with a beer belly,” Dixie said, rubbing the arm Margarita just punched.
I sighed. “So how does a man with a comb-over sleep with your girl?”
He leaned over the bar and choked out, “He has money, is how, and my Cindy got all hot for it.”
I almost fell of the barstool at this revelation. “I see. Where did he meet up with your girl?”
“Here. She’s a stripper.” He motioned to the stage. “There she is.”
We whirled and stared wide-eyed at the beautiful blonde who swayed on the stage. Cindy slid near the stripper pole and showed her athletic abilities as she swung around it with a series of twists and leg splits. I covered Margarita’s eyes. “You shouldn’t look.”
She swatted my hand away. “Speak for yourself. This is better than watching Demi Moore in that Striptease movie.”
I about lost it and wanted to drag Margarita away, but she genuinely seemed to be having a good time. I turned back to the bartender, but he had moved away. It figures. I had more questions that I wanted to ask him, but no sense in worrying. I’d have to question the stripper instead. Since she knew Clayton intimately, she might just have some useful information. I hoped, anyway.
Ten minutes later, I caught Cindy as she left the stage and I asked her for a lap dance. She eyed me up and agreed. I sat in the chair with Dixie and Margarita close by. As the stripper sat on my lap, I said, “I heard through the grapevine that you knew Clayton Percy personally.”
She tumbled to the floor and scrambled to her feet. “W-Who told you that?”
“I can’t really say. What does it matter?”
“Oh? So the bartender didn’t tell you?”
“No,” I lied. No sense in getting her mad at him since the bartender was so broken up over his girl and Clayton getting it on.
“Funny, because Troy�
��s the only one who thought that. He was my boyfriend, but we broke up over his accusations.”
“And yet you were all over Clayton here?”
She flicked her hair over her shoulders. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh? What was it like, then?”
“He just came in quite often and I danced for him. That’s all. He had more money than brains, I guess.”
“Why is that?”
“He acted like something was really going to happen between us outside of here.”
I gripped my legs as I leaned forward. “Are you saying that you never slept with the man?”
Cindy bit her lip before she said, “That’s right. I suppose you think just because I’m a stripper that means I’m some kind of slut.”
“No, but I suppose that’s how it looked to the other customers.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass how it looked to anyone. I’m just a stripper. It’s what I do for a living. We’re encouraged to do lap dances. It’s good money and Clayton was never in short supply of money. He was a regular and I could pay my rent with the money he spent on lap dances.”
“Surprising, since he worked at Hank’s Tool and Die, don’t you think?”
“Hey, I don’t care how a man gets money as long as he does.”
“Are you talking about your customers here or something else?”
“I meant here.”
“I heard Clayton gave you a diamond necklace. Is there any truth to that rumor?”
She sighed. “Oh, he gave me one all right, but I refused to accept the gift.”
“I see. So what happened with your boyfriend? Was he angry enough to want to harm Clayton?”
“No, Troy isn’t like that. He’s a gentle soul. I just wished he had believed me when I told him nothing happened between Clayton and me.”
“Can you think of anyone who’d want Clayton dead?”
“Like I said before, I only danced for him.”
I put a finger alongside my chin. “But surely the man had to have said something. I bet men get mighty chatty.”
“He talked mostly how he just came into a large sum of money. He said he planned to leave his wife soon.”
“Did he give you any details?” Margarita asked.
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