by Ritter Ames
“He said Snapchat pictures don’t mean anything because they’re instantly gone.” Melissa’s eyes brimmed with tears. “But his friends took screen shots of the Snapchat, then posted them all over. I was so ashamed. I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk that I passed out. And I shouldn’t have gone to a party alone.”
“I’d like to know who raised these boys that they would do such a thing.” I caught myself channeling Grandma Jo and stopped my tongue from clucking. “So I understand your need for revenge, but where’d you get the idea to roofie them? And how?”
“I was telling the girls what happened and they gave me the idea.”
“Girls?” I watched her. “I heard your cousin works at Honkers.”
She nodded. “Kat and my friends.”
“And Kat gave you the roofies?” I said helpfully.
She shook her head. “No, Jenice Dozen gave me the idea. She’s really funny. She said I should dope them with Xanax or Ambien, steal their clothes, then take pictures. I couldn’t take the pictures. That seemed wrong.”
I skipped over the logic of her ethics and focused on Chris Dozen’s ex-wife. “Did Jenice say if she’d done it before?”
“When she was married, if she didn’t feel like dealing with Chris, she’d drop an Ambien into his scotch.”
My nerves juiced. I shot forward on the bean bag and slid to the rug. Calming myself, I steered toward another topic. “What did the other girls say? Who else was there? I assume Kat.”
“Kat, Misty, and Claire. They said it sounded like a good idea. But Kat said I should be careful.”
“Did anyone help you roofie the boys?”
She nodded. “It was fun. And felt good to get back at them.”
I held my tongue. Vigilante justice was something I was often lectured on myself. Although I never unwittingly drugged or stole from anyone. “Did y’all ever do it again?”
Melissa grinned. “How’d you know? They said there were some guys they’d like to get back at, too.”
“Lucky guess. Here’s another one. Y’all did it in Halloween costumes so you couldn’t get caught. And then you ripped the guys off instead of stripping them nekkid.”
“Rip them off?” Her nose crinkled. “Like steal from them? That’s just wrong. Although Claire talked about stripping them and taking pictures to send to their wives. As like, a joke.”
Or as like, blackmail. Melissa’s cousin had turned her into some kind of Oliver Twist.
“Hey Melissa, come with me to Honkers. I’d like to hear the whole story from your friends and cousin. I’ll buy you a burger for the trouble.”
I hauled myself off the floor and dusted off my jeans while Melissa grabbed her purse. “Y’all might have taken my friend’s family heirloom at the Line Creek Country Club party.”
“I’m sure he lost it. We didn’t take anything.” Melissa fished her keys out of her purse. “If your friend was one of the guys they targeted, he had it coming to him. They were only going after men who gave them a hard time.”
Josiah was strange, but I couldn’t imagine him worthy of frat boy pranks. Although he did get frisky behind a trophy case. After he’d been roofied. “What do you mean?”
“Like grabbing them or whatever at Honkers.” Melissa turned to lock the door.
I needed to know how often Josiah ate at Honkers. But I now knew who had stolen Chris Dozen’s party invitation. And Jenice the mermaid had been there to egg the girls on.
“That’s an interesting key chain,” I said pointing to the monkey hanging from the palm tree. “Where’d you get it?”
“Misty gave it to me yesterday.” Melissa dangled the palm tree before her eyes. “I love that little monkey. He’s so cute.”
And I bet Misty loved stealing the keys to Sterling Cooper’s beach house. Interesting that the men giving the girls a hard time all were on the preservation board owning houses laden with valuable antiquities.
THIRTEEN
AS I FOLLOWED Melissa’s Ford Taurus to Honkers, I evaluated her naiveté. Did the Catwomen of Honkers dupe her into drugging men for giggles? My esteem for poor Melissa had dropped. My esteem for the Honkers girls was already pretty low, so no change there. My esteem for the men wasn’t much better.
However, my self-esteem functioned at an all-time high. Now that I had the Catwomen, it was a matter of shaking them down to get the valuables returned. If these ridiculous men wouldn’t go to the police, I had to get a confession from the Catwomen myself. And since I couldn’t rely on Deputy Heartbreak for assistance, that meant some flim-flammery on my part.
Unfortunately, Melissa and I weren’t alone in visiting Honkers for Sunday lunch. We maneuvered through the post-church, get-our-sin-and-football-on crowds. In the back parking lot, I readied the Datsun to park. And spotted Luke’s Ford Raptor pickup.
So much for my self-esteem. Before alighting, I beat the steering wheel, wiped tears from my angry eyes, and broke out my best cussin’. I slammed the truck door, the intensity of my feelings proven in the resulting shower of rust. But I felt better.
Melissa turned a questioning glance in my direction.
“My ex is here.” I shuffled toward the kitchen door. How was I going to keep my cool around Katty Bomar when my heart wanted to order a double homicide for Sunday brunch? “And my ex is seeing your cousin. This has nothing to do with the party business. But you should probably watch me around Kat. My brain’s got an itchy trigger on my mouth. I’m liable to shoot it off at any time.”
“Your ex is John Smith?”
“That’s not his—” I rolled my eyes. “Allegedly.”
“Wow. I won’t say anything to Kat. Don’t worry.” She worried the bracelets on her arm. “Guys are such tools. You should think of joining up with us.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Tell that to your friends. To get the ball rollin’.”
* * *
WHILE MELISSA SLIPPED away to find Misty, I found a spot at the bar. The party scene had been cleared and the restaurant was too busy to recognize the roofied girl from the night before. I scanned the room. Didn’t see Luke. Figured him getting cozy with Kat, also missing.
My head ached, my eyes smarted, and my heart had a Tater-sized dent. I’d blame it on a Xanax hangover, but I knew better. Best to focus on the career and bringing down these villains. Then I could wallow in my misery with paint and a canvas in peace.
“Are you Claire?” I asked the bartender.
She nodded without glancing at me. The woman behind the bar had the prerequisite figure of all the Honkers gals, but today the Honkers staff wore devil horns and no masks. I watched as Claire kept her eyes on tappers and bottles as she made a flurry of drinks for the football crowd.
Maybe this Halloween, the Honkers staff were using robbery to make a statement about objectifying women. But then again, no one forced them to work at Honkers. Nope, pretty sure they were in it for the money, no matter what they told Melissa. And I felt confident they were fencing it to the auction people, although that connection was still a bit cloudy. Which meant I’d have to go to the auction and possibly perform a felony.
I cut a glance toward the hostess stand where Misty and Melissa huddled, ignoring the waiting customers. Then turned back and found myself facing Kat and Luke.
My shoulders slumped and I forced them back until I sat rigid, chin high. “Melissa told me everything,” I spoke to Kat, ignoring Luke. “Y’all are so busted. It won’t be long before you’re looking at John Smith here behind bars.”
Kat gasped.
“Go on and get back to work.” Luke glanced from Kat to me. “I’ll talk to her.”
She scurried off to her tables, glancing behind her.
Luke focused his glower on me. “You need to leave. And whatever you’re doing, you need to drop it.”
“Can’t. And won’t.”
“Let me put this another way. You know my position and you know I have every right to tell you to drop this. I want you to leave Honkers and stop botheri
ng Katty Bomar. Now.”
He cut his eyes toward Claire, the bartender. “This woman is about to cause a scene. You had to kick her out last night. I think it best if I escort her from the premises.”
FOURTEEN
DEPUTY HARPER COULD deter me from Honkers and unwittingly protect the Catwomen, but he couldn’t keep me from the auction. Particularly since Max Avtaikin loved nothing better than besting the police. He brought his distrust of authorities from the old country.
Besides, I had no choice. Max had gotten the call. The auction was that night. If the codpiece wasn’t there, I’d face the town council with no help from Josiah Sweeton. His panicked calls weren’t giving me any reassurance he’d get over this anytime soon.
For the auction, the Bear said I needed to appear chic, worthy of a black market auction. He suggested a bandage dress. I had more practical considerations for stealing a codpiece. A poodle skirt (sans poodle) with crinoline and a secret inside pocket.
By his eyebrows, I could tell the Bear wasn’t impressed with my wardrobe choice. “You look like teenager. I can’t take you like this.”
“It’s still Halloween season, auction or no.” But I shook out my ponytail and left the scarf behind.
The auction site was delivered via text message an hour before the start. I figured Atlanta, but we headed toward a defunct paper plant warehouse on the outskirts of Line Creek instead. Except for the parking lot of luxury cars, the warehouse and surrounds appeared deserted.
“We are lucky. The auction is never in same police jurisdiction twice,” said the Bear. “They only give one-hour notice to keep location very secret. The drive can sometimes take longer from Halo and I am locked out.”
“You mean if we were late, they wouldn’t let us in? So we had a chance of not making it?” I placed a hand on my heart. “Thanks for letting me know.”
A man dressed in black combats took our coded invitation and directed us to park. Upon leaving the Porsche, he appeared again. “Phones and weapons remain in the vehicle. You may take your wallet, but nothing else.”
“Weapons?” I exclaimed.
The Bear shot me a scowl.
“Excuse me,” I said. “What if—”
“Your date needs to be frisked,” said Combat.
“Because of the crinoline?” I said.
“Because of your mouth,” said Combat.
“But I didn’t—”
“I can tell.”
Combat patted me down, then pointed us toward a metal door.
Inside, a decorating crew had transformed a section of the warehouse. Drapery boxed the buyers into a large square. Chandeliers hung over cushioned folding chairs before a small stage. We were handed a numbered paddle, a catalog, and told not to speak.
“What if—”
“Do you want to get kicked out?” growled the Bear. “No speaking. Look for the codpiece in the catalog. The pieces are kept behind the curtain. When all the guests arrive, they will bring the items inside the auction and begin bidding.”
I flipped through the catalog. “No codpiece. Let’s go.”
“We cannot.” He spoke with his head bent over the catalog. “Rules. And there is Confederate swords. I will make good use of our time.”
“Are you kidding me? Now I have to sit through a boring illegal auction?” I strode to the doorway and tapped Combat’s shoulder. “Excuse me. You don’t have what I’m looking for. Can we go before the auction starts?”
Combat whirled around. “You will sit down and shut up until the auction is over and we release you. Those are the rules. If you don’t comply with the rules, you will spend the auction locked in the back of a truck.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “Just checking.”
I backed away from Combat and slid onto a chair next to Max.
His right leg jiggled with anticipation. He scanned the crowd, then uttered a foreign oath.
“What? Do you see the Catwomen?”
“Nyet,” he murmured. “Christopher Dozen.”
“The owner of Honkers? Where?” I shot up from my seat. The Bear’s powerful hand landed on my shoulder. I slammed onto my chair in a whoosh of crinoline. I patted my skirt down, then turned in my chair to crane my neck. “I need to talk to that guy. I’ve been banned from his restaurant and he needs to know his staff and ex-wife are criminals. He won’t call me back.”
“You are not supposed to talk, period.”
Chris Dozen scanned the catalog as he walked, taking no notice of the other buyers. Without his barmaid costume, he looked like every other middle-aged man at the auction. He took a chair in the last row. I hopped from my seat in the front and slipped down the row from the opposite side.
“Hey, Mr. Dozen?” I whispered, slipping into the chair next to him. “Remember me?”
He gave me a look better seen on granite.
“There’s something you need to know.”
His eyes crept above my head. I spun in my seat.
Combat angled between us. “If this woman is bothering you, Mr. Dozen, I’d be glad to help.”
Chris waved him off and Combat continued to the stage. At the podium, Combat did a hot mic check, then turned it over to a man in a tuxedo. Once again, the rules were repeated, but in a less condescending and hostile tone. They opened the bidding for the first item in the catalog. One gold button off some famous guy’s seventeenth-century uniform. There was silence except for the droning voice of the auctioneer and the swish of paddles.
I felt pretty sure I might die from boredom.
Every time I attempted a whisper toward Christopher Dozen, he ignored me to focus on the bidding. His circled items in the catalog were mostly swords.
While I stifled yawns and eye rolls, I noticed Combat allowing bidders behind a curtained wall. They would wave their paddle beneath their seat, receive a nod from Combat, and disappear in the split behind him. A few minutes later, they would return.
Best case scenario, there were more items “for sale” behind the curtain. Likely, the items that arrived after the buyers. Possibly even Josiah’s codpiece. I wanted to ask the Bear, because he knew of such things, but couldn’t risk getting locked in a holding cell for switching seats.
Worse case scenario, they were being escorted to the bathroom.
A sword was introduced by the auctioneer. Max turned halfway in his seat to spot Dozen’s paddle. The crowd eyeballed the ensuing paddle battle like a Wimbledon match.
I took the opportunity to swing my paddle under my seat. Combat narrowed his eyes but jerked his chin. I wiggled past Christopher Dozen and to Combat’s side.
“Show me,” I whispered. “Like the others.”
Combat raised his brows.
“What I want isn’t in the catalog.” I gave him my best customer service smile and a flirtatious wink. “Maybe it’s behind the curtain.”
Combat rolled his eyes. “You have exactly one minute. After you exit, you’ll tell me the item number and bid. When the general auction closes, we will notify you if you’ve won.”
He held back the drapery and I stepped inside a smaller curtained room. The paintings on easels caught my eye, but I forced myself to stay focused on the tables holding various antiques. Spying an area with costumed dress forms, I darted toward the nearby table holding jewelry and accessories.
“Bingo.” The triangular pocket on strings was sadly disappointing. The red brocade had been stuffed and elaborately decorated with jewels, although faded and frayed. A museum piece for sure, but not as showy as I expected.
From the other room, the auctioneer sped through rising numbers. Not much time left.
I glanced around for cameras and spotted a painting in a recognizable puffy shirt. “Captain Morgan?”
The auctioneer’s voice grew louder. Behind me, the curtain rustled.
Feeling like a hummingbird battered my rib cage, I bent over the table as if examining the items. Reaching under my crinoline, I pulled out a heart-shaped, red and gold-trimmed eye patch. Fro
m Party Barn’s “sexy pirate wench” accessory kit. Fluffing my crinoline over the table, I reached beneath the crinoline and swapped the eye patch for the codpiece. Shoved the codpiece into my hidden skirt pocket, refluffed, and turned toward the curtain flap.
Combat stood halfway inside, but his focus was on the auction. A commotion brewed. And it no longer sounded like the sword paddle battle.
I strolled toward the curtain break but halted halfway.
The auctioneer began barking exit orders. Combat took off. I zipped to the far curtained wall and peeked underneath. The empty warehouse. I backed out, snuck to the curtain break, and spied out. Customers were abandoning their chairs and rushing out the door. Combat had left his post to direct orders to more black combat-suited workers. The auctioneer had vanished. So had the Bear and Christopher Dozen.
“Dammit.” I rushed back through the illegal displays, grabbed Captain Morgan, and shoved him beneath the curtain wall.
Dropping to the floor, I began to slither beneath the curtain. The crinoline jammed against the heavy drapery and my army man crawl halted. I lay on half of my rucked poodle skirt, staring out at the empty warehouse. Captain Morgan on the ground before me. Josiah’s ridiculous codpiece in the pocket below me.
On the other side of the curtain, the crinoline had gathered against the heavy drape, leaving my legs and panties exposed. I wriggled and kicked. Twisted to grab the bottom of the curtain and lift it up. Which is not easy to do when you’re lying on your stomach pointed the wrong way.
A door banged open at the far end of the warehouse. Brown suited and black vested deputies poured through the door.
“Criminy.” I began to wriggle backward, abandoning Captain Morgan.
I got as far as my chest when I was told to stop.
FIFTEEN
DEPUTY LUKE HARPER directed the other deputies into the stolen merchandise room, then scooped up the framed Captain Morgan. “Didn’t take you for an art thief.”
I folded my arms beneath me and looked up. “I hope you arrested your girlfriend because she’s one of the trio robbing these men and fencing their valuables through the auction.”
