Midnight Mysteries: Nine Cozy Tales by Nine Bestselling Authors

by Ritter Ames

  “You agreed to help me. And by doing so, I’ll get you a conversation with my patron. By the way, watch Captain Morgan. He’s sporting a codpiece.”

  “Captain Morgan?”

  “Buccaneer at the bar.” We looked at the bar, empty of sea plunderers. “Dammit. Just find the pirate and make sure he’s not also wearing an antique thingy on his person. I can understand a town this old being chock full of ancestral pride, but the wearing of family heirlooms is getting ridiculous.”

  My words had been lost on the Bear. His Arctic gaze gleamed. A tight smile curled his fierce lips.

  “Stop thinking about his family jewels and focus on keeping him safe from Catwoman.”

  At the words “family jewels,” the smugness vanished. “Make your call,” he said. “I will find pirate.”

  I slipped into a short hall leading to a bathroom. Locating my phone among the folds of Mona Lisa’s voluminous gown proved difficult, particularly with the frame’s corners catching on the muslin with every shift. “Dangit.”

  The hall light winked out.

  “Excuse me,” I called. “I think you shut the wrong switch.”

  Behind me, someone moved. I swung around, banging the frame into a body.

  The body barked an ouch.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “Can you turn the lights back on?”

  They reached through the frame to grab my shoulders, pushing me back against the wall. The hands slid to my elbows, pinning my arms to the wall. Strong female hands.

  Ridiculously strong.

  I’d been nabbed by Catwoman.

  EIGHT

  “WHAT’RE YOU DOING?” The woman hissed. “Why are you asking so many questions about the country club party?”

  “What’s it to you?” I jerked a knee. My gown snagged on the wooden frame and my knee tapped her leg.

  She jerked her knee and the frame slammed against the tops of my thighs.

  Much more effective. And painful.

  Pushing her body against the frame, she laughed.

  My hands scrabbled in the air, scratching at the wooden back. “Who are you?” I grunted.

  “Someone you don’t want to mess with.” She leaned in. The sharp edges dug into my skin. “Nobody’s going to get hurt except you, if you don’t quit.”

  “Josiah Sweeton broke his leg,” I snarled.

  “That’s his own fault if he did. They’re not getting anything they don’t deserve.”

  “Who?”

  “This is none of your business. Leave it alone.” She released my arm. Grabbed my ear lobe and twisted.

  My eyes teared. I seized her hand. And succeeded in exacting more pressure on my lobe.

  “You’re lucky Mona Lisa doesn’t wear earrings or I would’ve ripped your ear in half.” She gave it a tight wrench before jerking away. “Remember what I said, girl. Stay out of this.”

  With a final shove, she ran out of the hallway. A door slammed.

  Holding my burning ear, I pushed off the wall, tripped in my twisted skirts, and fell on top of the frame. The wood cracked. A range of curses escaped my mouth. Mona Lisa had been one of my best costumes, but one of my worst ideas.

  Timing, y’all.

  Facedown on the giant frame, I stretched behind me to pull off the wire hanger harness. Ripped a hunk of hair yanking it off. Pushed off the floor and left the broken frame. Ran down the hall and jerked open the door.

  I searched the crowded room for a woman with some heft. The party continued in full force. Captain Morgan had not returned to the bar. The band played on. With her long tail draped over her arm, Shawna shimmied with the Flappers and gangsters. Wonder Woman twirled her invisible lasso, hooking a guy in scrubs, mask, and stethoscope.

  In the dark hall, I had detected a bit of a shimmer from my assailant. Shimmers and spangles abounded. Except for Shawna, who’d worn all black. Judging by the accent, my attacker had been local. Local and female. Unfortunately, Shawna’s voice had the same yowling sound as her Halloween namesake. As if she were in heat around a pack of toms.

  A costume with a local drawl. Almost as good as Sterling Child’s description. I still sought someone with boobs.

  The Bear leaned on the bar, a cut glass tumbler at his elbow and eyes back on Supergirl. I approached, giving her a black look. Supergirl hightailed it to the dance floor.

  “Did you speak to the Party Barn?” Max swept me with a critical gaze. “You are unkempt. Where is your frame?

  “Has Supergirl been with you the whole time?” When he nodded—not sheepishly enough for my liking—I added, “‘Cause I just had a run-in in your hallway with some gal. Did you see anyone slip through the hall door in the last few minutes?”

  I pulled in a long breath at his head shake. “Really? I asked you to keep an eye on things, not an eye on a thang. You’re a terrible second.”

  “I am not your second, Artist. I am hosting a party. What does this run-in mean?” He focused on the swirling the ice cubes in his drink.

  “It means Catwoman was here. She knows I’m looking for her and we had a tussle.” I shook back my frizzled hair and raised my chin. “The unkemptness you’ve noted is a sign I’m heading in the right direction.”

  “And where is Catwoman?”

  “She got away.” I rubbed my ear. “She’s no longer Catwoman. By the way, you need a nightlight or something in that hallway. It’s dark as the grave when the lights are off.”

  He spun to survey the party. “So she is here. Interesting.”

  “Where’s Captain Morgan?”

  “I could not find him.”

  “Or you couldn’t find him on Supergirl? I wasn’t gone that long.” I craned my neck. “Okay, we know Catwoman was here and we know the men who tangle with her find themselves snoozing in odd places. Let’s split up and find him.”

  “Coat check.”

  “Is that Russian for something?”

  “If the man wants an assignation at my home events, he usually does the tête à tête in cloak room.”

  * * *

  WE FOUND CAPTAIN Morgan lying on the floor. Wallet tossed in his lap. Empty. Keys missing unless he left them with the valet (it was that kind of party). Codpiece intact.

  As the Bear noted, his codpiece was imitation, so at least Catwoman was foiled in that attempt.

  After dragging him into a sitting position, we tried to wake Captain Morgan with water, shaking, and a fair amount of yelling.

  “I dunno,” he mumbled at our request for information. His chin hit his chest.

  “I betcha he’s been roofied. Rohypnol works fast. Particularly when mixed with alcohol.” From my squat, I looked up at Max. “Go ask if anyone saw him come in here with a woman. And call an ambulance.”

  “No ambulash,” slurred Captain Morgan.

  “Captain Morgan, you’ve been robbed. You need to speak to the police and have a doctor look at you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No. No. No.”

  I grabbed his lapels. “Snap out of it, Captain Morgan. You can’t let Catwoman get away with this.”

  “Bashga.”

  “What is he saying? I cannot understand his English.” Ice cubes tinkled near my ear. Max peered over my shoulder, drink still in hand.

  “Bashgal.”

  “Slow down, Captain Morgan,” I said. “What are you telling us?”

  “Cape. She’d cape. No polish. Married.” His head rolled back and smacked the wall.

  “Dammit. He said cape.” I turned to face Max. “Who wore a cape tonight?”

  “Many peoples.” He shrugged and lifted the glass to his lips.

  “Stop.” Lunging, I struck his hand and knocked the glass to the floor. Vodka splashed over Captain Morgan.

  The Bear’s eyebrow crept toward his hairline. “Artist, your point can be made without the dramatics.”

  “They wore capes, Bear. Tonight they were superheroes. He was trying to say Batgirl. And you were with Supergirl...”

  We both stared at th
e glass on the ground.

  “You can thank me later, Bear. I just saved you from roofies.”

  NINE

  THE SUPERHEROINES HAD disappeared, likely when we had opened the coat check door to find Captain Morgan.

  No one had gotten their names. Of course.

  We let Captain Morgan sleep off his Catwoman encounter, but couldn’t get more information other than Batgirl had seduced him. She’d taken his money and the keys to his house. His wife was out of town, so a locksmith was ordered for the morning. A police report proved too embarrassing for the Captain, even with our pleading and sharing of Josiah and Sterling’s experiences.

  Tucking his feathered tricorn hat under his arm, he bowed. “Thank ye for your help, milady. I’ve a reputation to uphold. Getting drunk at a party is disgraceful, but I can allow that news to circulate in light of what really happened. No one can know what this woman did to me.”

  “It may be embarrassing, but it’s also larceny. And if they rob your house, it’s burglary. Possibly robbery, if the court deems seducing and drugging you as violence.”

  “I’m aware. I’m a lawyer.”

  I felt like stomping my feet and screaming. “Come on. Let’s get the law on these women.”

  He shot a glance at the Bear. “I know you’ll never speak of this.”

  Max gave him a curt nod.

  I went home to Tater. And to make a new costume. One that didn’t involve a frame or a toga.

  * * *

  NOW, I KNEW Catwoman had a litter, multiple costumes, and access to roofies, I felt confident I could track her down. Saturday night meant a Halloween party bonanza, even though we had two days to go. Cops and hospitals were on high alert, as was I. Unfortunately, in this town I couldn’t get a private party invite. But there was one party that’d serve me as a twofer.

  For the Love Potion Party, I created a more forgiving costume. Despite the Bear’s claims that a classic antiquity toga would serve me better, I dare not risk any wardrobe malfunctions to mistake me for the Birth of Venus. I chose Girl with a Pearl Earring. Easy enough to make an ultramarine turban and yellow ochre top coat. And because Vermeer only painted her portrait from the shoulders up, I could still wear my boots.

  As I pinned the turban in place, my phone rang.

  “How was the Avtaikin party?” said Josiah. “Did you find her?”

  “I met her, so technically yes. But at the moment, I don’t know where she is or her name, so no.”

  “My codpiece. There’s not much time left.”

  “Halloween is Monday. We’ve got the weekend to seek out costumed thieves.” I flipped the dangling scarf behind my shoulder and adjusted the phone. “There’s a party tonight at Honkers. I’m hoping to track her there.”

  “Honkers? I can understand the Avtaikin party, but I’m not sure if Honkers is the type of party—”

  “Just let me do my job, Josiah. It’s not like I’m looking for a homewrecker at the same time.”

  “Homewrecker? Listen, I’ve got to get that codpiece back to Mother’s safe—”

  “Mr. Sweeton, I’m getting closer. And now I have a better idea of who she is. If I can’t catch her at this party, there’s always the auction. But that’s dangerous and illegal as all hell, so let me try Honkers first. It’s not like these girls are debutantes. I know they’re connected to Honkers.”

  Not really. Just a hunch. But I needed to go to that Love Potion party regardless.

  * * *

  SOMEONE HAD WRAPPED the giant geese in black and orange crepe paper. They were now well-endowed mummies and not vampires. I bustled past the concrete monstrosities and into the cobwebbed foyer. Peeking around the entrance, I reached for the loose end of my turban and held it before my face.

  Girl with a Pearl Earring proved to be a genius costume in more ways than one.

  The restaurant overflowed with partiers. People more of my ilk, as Shawna would say. Here were the naughty nurses, slutty cheerleaders, and frisky French maids.

  And those were the men.

  The Honkers girls still wore the ubiquitous Daisy Dukes and tanks, but tonight they had switched their Groucho glasses for masquerade masks. Not that I’d recognize the Catwomen without a mask, but if they were Honkers staff, it’d prove even more difficult.

  I scanned the party for Luke and thankfully, didn’t see him. However, I did recognize the man wearing the Margaritaville costume. Sterling Childs. Complete with parrot hat. He clenched his costume namesake while talking to a farmer’s daughter.

  Not literally. Didn’t recognize her from Grandpa’s co-op.

  Sterling waved me over. “I like your costume. Are you a fortune teller?”

  I didn’t take Sterling for an art connoisseur, so I skipped the explanation. “How’s the beach house?”

  “Beach house?” said Farm Girl.

  “Hilton Head. Golf more than beach.” Sterling beamed at her. “Going up there next weekend.”

  “Did your wife check it for break-ins?” I continued.

  Farmer’s Daughter slid us an embarrassed smile and made her excuses. Sterling sipped his margarita and watched her departure.

  “Oh well.” He turned to me. “Actually, my round shot is missing. Maybe you’ll find it in your treasure hunt?”

  “Round shot?”

  “Cannonball. From Blackbeard’s 1718 Adventure.”

  “Catwoman stole it from your beach house?”

  “No, from my Line Creek home. I keep it in the garden on a pedestal. Shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head. “Funny, I used to have it at the Hilton Head house. My wife never liked it, even though it’s been in her family for ages.”

  “Let me guess, she’s a descendant of Blackbeard.” I was up to my ears in colonial family trees.

  “Lord, no. Her family’s from Beaufort. Great uncle was a diver. They let him keep a cannonball, not knowing until almost twenty years later the shipwreck was Blackbeard’s sloop.”

  “Any other Blackbeard antiques that were taken?”

  “Nothing else from Blackbeard, unfortunately. Although I do have quite a few sunken treasure items at my beach house.”

  “The beach house from which Catwoman stole your keys?” I shook my head, making my tassels twitch. “And you’re not reporting the missing cannonball to the police, I’m guessing.”

  “Like I said, it was in my wife’s family...”

  “She struck again last night. At Max Avtaikin’s party. I’m hoping to nab them here.”

  “Them?”

  “There’s more than one Catwoman. Last night they were superheroes instead of supervillains.”

  Sterling scanned the room. “And tonight?”

  I shrugged. “Party Barn has terrible record keeping. And they’re sold out of most everything.”

  “That explains your fortune telling costume.”

  I bit the inside of my lip to keep my mouth shut. “Do you come to Honkers often? Because I’m looking for Christopher Dozen, the owner, and a woman named Katty, who could be a waitress.”

  “Sure. Chris’s on the historic preservation trust with me.”

  “Is Josiah Sweeton and Captain Morgan’s ancestor also in this club?” Excitement swelled my voice and I bounced on my toes.

  “Not a club. It’s a county-wide board. Sweetens on it, of course. I don’t know anyone named Captain Morgan. Sounds familiar, though.”

  “And when is your next meeting?”

  “First Thursday evening of each month at Line Creek courthouse.”

  “Dammit. That’s November third. Do you know about a secret antique auction?”

  Sterling shook his head. “Chris might. I just inherit. He collects.”

  We found Chris at the bar, encouraging a purple suited pimp, Darth Vader, and Walter White to try the Love Potion drink. Judging by the revelry, plenty had already imbibed. Chris had dressed as a German beer hall wench. Blonde braids, drindl, and watermelon-sized breasts bulging out of his peasant blouse. Considering his establishme
nt, he seemed stuck on the cleavage and drink theme.

  Sterling introduced us and explained my interest in the auction.

  “You have an invitation to the auction? Those are hard to get.” He scanned me. “I don’t recognize your name from the preservation groups.”

  If he knew of the auction, I assumed he knew some of the artifacts were illegally gained. Chris Dozen had gone from semi-sleazy bar owner to possible historic larceny ring suspect on my list. He could be my link to the Catwomen.

  “I know Max Avtaikin. As Sterling said, I have an interest in historical artifacts,” I hedged. “I’m wondering about a piece that might be at auction. Actually, I’m hoping to get the piece without going to the auction.”

  Chris eyeballed me again.

  I didn’t give off antiquity lover vibes, despite my Renaissance styled costume. I also didn’t give off the other vibe I figured Chris would appreciate, the money vibe. My feminine wiles couldn’t compete with Honker girls. They couldn’t even compete with Chris’s barmaid costume. But what I lacked in sexy distraction, I could make up for in creativity. “I’m an artist. I’d love to do a quick sketch of you in that costume. It’s so funny.”

  He squeezed his faux bosom and winked. “Glad you like it. After that, we can chat in my office.”

  In high school, I made college money working as a Six Flags caricature artist. Using the back of a Love Potion flyer, I drew Chris and his girls. Both the rubber ones attached to the costume’s décolletage and the skimpy outfitted waitresses. He hung the sketch behind the bar for all to admire. Sufficiently flattered, we moved through the crowds toward his office to discuss our mutual love of historic art.

  As we passed the restrooms, the homewrecker Katty walked out of the ladies’. As I suspected, she wore the regulation Daisy Duke’s but had not yet slipped on her mask.

  “Miss Bomar, the Love Potion won’t sell itself,” said Chris. “And we’re out of twenty-five cent wings.”

  “Katty?” I said. “Don’t I know you from somewhere? Didn’t you wear a Catwoman costume at the country club party?”

  “She’s just wait staff,” said Chris. “Come on.”

  I looked from Chris to Katty. Bust a larceny ring or bust Luke’s side of fries. I couldn’t do both at the same time. I followed Chris but gave Katty the “watching you” fingers.