“What’s a dry bar?” Shep looks both curious and irritated by the fact he’s devoid of this knowledge. And if I know this man, he darn well suspects something is up.
“A hairdresser’s nightmare. Don’t work too hard.” I bite down on a smile. “Boyfriend.”
A crooked grin ignites on his own face. “How about we celebrate with lasagna later—girlfriend?”
“I’ll bring the wine.”
He frowns at the thought. “You don’t drink.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t want to get you nice and loaded.” My expression sours. “I hear that’s when you can get the best-kept secrets out of someone.” It’s true. They don’t call it truth serum for nothing.
He takes another deep breath. “Don’t worry, Bowie. Believe me when I say, it’s nothing.” His lips purse. “Any chance of you sharing that secret of yours with me? If you need more time, take it. I just thought—I just want to help, Bowie. I want to fix it for you.”
“Oh right, that.” As in my big sibylline surprise. “I promise I’m getting close. In fact, expect to be bowled over by it soon enough.” I don’t see why I should put off the inevitable. God forbid Tilly or Opal vomit it at his feet. Or Regina, but I’m not entirely sure how she would find out.
“Looking forward to it.” He offers me a firm embrace. “Stay away from the Wright case. It’s not for you, Bowie.”
We share another heated smooch—the kind that says if this keeps up he’s going to have a problem to deal with that hopefully he won’t exclude me from handling. But instead, we part ways, and I watch as he takes off.
Shep says the secret Regina shared with him was nothing.
Since when is it nothing if your boyfriend shares a secret with another woman?
But, then again, I have a secret of my own—a whopper that I’m pretty sure could eat Regina’s secret for breakfast.
Regardless, for now I choose to focus on a much smaller secret. I’m headed off to finish that chat I started with Carol Bransford yesterday.
And who knows? I might just have a Christmas gift to give to Shep a little bit early this year—the most wanted gift on just about every homicide detective’s wish list—a shiny new killer.
Chapter 5
DoReMi Karaoke Bar and Grill is located in the dicey town just above Starry Falls known as Scooter Springs.
I haven’t been in Vermont all that long, but I do know that if you want to get sloppy drunk, hit on, or arrested, Scooter Springs is ground zero for all that fun and more.
It turns out, the Dillinger Distillery also owns and operates the karaoke bar and grill right next door. And that little crooning and swooning hole-in-the-wall just so happens to be where Carol works as the manager.
Tilly, Stephanie, and I hurry into the building in an effort to escape the snow coming down outside.
The DoReMi is a spacious eatery with a majority of the space designated as a dance floor, or I’m guessing a brawl sprawl when the alcohol hits just right. The interior is made of gray wood from top to bottom with matching wooden tables and booths. The entire place is decorated to the gilt hilt for Christmas with its red metallic garland strung up everywhere you look. A Christmas tree sits in the entry, lit up with colorful blinking lights, and hanging on every branch is an ornament in the shape of a beer mug filled with the bubbling brew.
A woman up on stage is belting out the lyrics to “Blue Christmas,” and the entire bar is losing their collective minds in whoops and hollers.
The scent of onion rings and juicy grilled burgers infiltrates my senses, and suddenly my tummy is clamoring to have at least three helpings of each. I’ve never been one to economize either my food portions or my spending habits, thus the financial pickle I’m in to begin with.
Tilly gasps as she takes a few steps inside. “Would you look at that?” She swats my sister as she points to the bar. “Aren’t those the men you’re after, Lola?”
My sister’s mouth rounds out. “Son of a gun. It’s as if the universe is trying to tell me something.”
“What are you looking at?” I squint in that direction, hoping she’s eyeing the same onion rings and burger I am, but as soon as I spot the offense, I realize the universe cares less about feeding my sister’s stomach and more about feeding her flesh. I suck in a breath, so fast and sharp, I’d swear on all that is holy I just inhaled a French fry. “What are they doing here?”
“You know them?” a female voice pipes up just as Carol Bransford hops in front of me, and I startle once again in a thirty second window.
I’ve never had a suspect pop up out of the woodwork like that.
“We only kinda sorta of know them,” I say, taking a moment to glare at the Italian Stallions knocking back beers at the bar. I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t fess up to even remotely being aware of them, let alone claiming them in any single way.
Carol huffs as she tugs down a tiny red velvet dress almost identical to the newly issued uniforms at the café—Regina’s doing. I’m sensing a naughty Santa theme here.
“They came in an hour ago,” she says. “I guess they each run their own security companies. I tried telling them I didn’t need protection, but no matter how hard I protested, they insisted I choose between them. They also mentioned they’re looking to buy around here.”
“Buy? Buy what?” My heart thumps unnaturally because I have a feeling I know exactly what those young studs are up to. A dull laugh pumps from me. “Well, well, if it isn’t a couple of Santa sinners spreading Christmas fear wherever they go.”
Stephanie moans. “Let me at ’em. Don’t you worry about a thing, Bowie Binx.” She unbuttons her blouse three notches. “I’ll go teach ’em a lesson right now.” She zips off, and Tilly holds out a hand.
“Wait up! They don’t call me the punisher for nothing.”
“Well, there’s that.” I shrug over to Carol with her blonde curls, that red velvet lipstick on that matches her dress. “Fancy meeting you here.” I suppose I can always use Steph and Tilly’s incessant need to feed their testosterone addiction as a cover for standing in front of her.
Carol belts out a laugh. “Didn’t we just meet last night? You’re S.J. Wexler’s girl, right? You’re the wannabe detective Regina introduced me to.” She cringes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Those were her words, not mine.”
“No offense taken. Regina’s been insulting me for the last nine months. So what’s the deal with this place?” I ask, looking around. “My friend says the DoReMi is where it’s at if you want to have a good time.”
“Oh, it is.” She’s quick to nod. “Each day this month we’re hosting a Christmas themed event. Tonight, it’s exclusively Christmas carol karaoke. We’re hosting a Santa stocking surprise tomorrow night where everyone wins a free shot on the house and then some. If you think it’s lively tonight, just wait until tomorrow.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I happen to be the manager here.” Her chest expands as a prideful smile glides over her lips.
“Oh? Do you still work at the distillery, too?”
Her expression darkens. “I would love to, but that sort of went south a couple of years ago. At first, I thought manning the helm at this place might be a demotion, but I’ve had more fun, laughter, and happy tears than I can remember since I’ve stepped through that door. The staff and patrons are like family now. But one day I hope to be back on the board, and if things go well, I can have my old position back along with doing what I love right here. I’ve given my entire life to the Dillingers. They practically owe me.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“First job—right out of college. A friend of mine landed me the position.” Her expression sours. “But it’s been good for me here, and I don’t want to leave. For a while I was afraid I’d be booted out on my rear—what with all the budget cuts, but things are looking up again. Thankfully, this country just loves Dillinger beer.”
“I’ll say. It’s a big hit back in New J
ersey.” Gah! “Or so I hear.” Some habits die hard, like bringing up your roots. “Any news on the death of your friend? That was pretty brutal.”
She gives a sly wink. “Nope. Nothing that I’ve heard.” She shudders. “It was pretty brutal, though, wasn’t it?” She stares off blankly into the room for a moment, and I can tell she’s gone to a dark place. I feel pretty bad about bringing her there, too.
“Carol? Can I ask how you knew Holly? What kind of a person was she?”
Her whole body bucks with a laugh. “Holly was a pistol of a woman. A real peach if you can read between the fuzzy lines. She was born with an axe to grind and found a new victim to sharpen it on every time she turned around. We were sorority sisters way back when.”
“Sorority sisters?”
She nods. “Back at Benton. She was as big a hit with people back then as she was right up until the present.”
“So you were sorority sisters? You must have been good friends.”
“Oh, we were very good friends, especially in the beginning. I got along really well with her family, too. And she got along with my family for the most part.” She ticks her head to the side as if reliving a bad memory.
And I bet she is—like that fling Holly had with her brother.
“Did you stay close?”
Her eyes close a notch just as someone starts belting out “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.”
“Nobody stayed close to Holly. She didn’t allow for it. But—you could say we were pretty tight right up until the end.”
The scene between her and Holly going at it last night flits through my mind. I wonder what they were arguing about?
“Well, it sounds as if you were great friends right up until her final moments.” I bounce my shoulders as if to say my interrogation ends here. And it just might.
“We quibbled”—she offers—“but what good friends don’t?” She sways with the music as the room ignites with random whistles and applause. “Any news on the mayor? I bet he’s the prime suspect.”
“I wouldn’t know. But I’m sure the sheriff’s department is looking into it. I just can’t imagine him being angry enough to do something so violent right then and there—at the tree lighting no less. I mean, he was practically hosting the event. And he was dressed as Santa. If he did do it, and God forbid some tiny tot witnessed the event, I’m sure it would have scarred them for life.”
Her gaze drops to the floor. “I guess you’re right. Who knows—maybe he didn’t do it?” She shrugs as if she was indifferent. “Holly Wright had an enemy tucked in every corner of the state. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a handful there last night.” She cocks her head to the side. “Actually, I know of one—Kaila Clark.” Her expression sours as she says the woman’s name. “She’s the one that works at the library. Holly was her higher-up. I don’t know what those two women had against one another, but they were having a rather angry disagreement before the tree lighting. Kaila—I can tell she’s the quiet type that lets things simmer. But I bet when she blows up, things can get explosive.”
Someone calls her name from behind.
“Make yourself at home, Bowie. In fact, have a drink on me.” She lets out an ear-piercing whistle and gets the bartender’s attention before pointing my way. “Go on.” She offers me a pat to the back. “After you loosen up, get up there and belt out a few Christmas carols. ’Tis the season!” she trills as she takes off.
I glance back to the bar where I spot Stephanie next to Enzo, and Tilly with her arm draped over Dom.
’Tis the season to get embroiled in folly whenever the mob is concerned.
My feet carry me that way, and in no time flat I am wedged between the two inebriated couples. Good thing I drove us here in my handy dandy Honda, Wanda. Not that she has a reputation for being all that reliable, but then again, I’d take unreliability over the type of danger my sister is flirting with.
“I’ve got what I came for, girls,” I tell them. “Let’s head on out. I’d like to hit that donut drive-thru we passed on the way over.”
A dark laugh rumbles from the crook next to my sister. “I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. That’s one of the places I’ve got my eye on.”
Steph nods. “Enzo is thinking of snapping up a few properties right here in Scooter Springs. Mostly, he’s looking for a place to call home. He’s thinking seriously about the Boogie Bungalow.”
Tilly leans in. “Dom is looking into fine dining—a place called the Hideaway right down the street.” She gives a quick glance around. “Apparently, it boasts of a full basement that’s been transformed into an exclusive access underground club.”
“Sounds like a horror movie in the making.” I shoot a look to the two gangsters in our midst. “I get it. Your daddies rule the roost down in Leeds, and you want to reign up north in Scooter Springs. Believe me, I understand how important it is for the next generation to spread their wings and make their pestilence known. You’re looking to get established. But what I don’t get is why two men from feuding families are here scouting out the place as if you were friends.” I gasp as I look to the two handsome henchmen in our midst. “Wait a minute. You’re friends! Ha!” I laugh openly at the two of them. “You just broke every rule in the family Bible. Unless, of course, you’re going to break from tradition and start something together.” But knowing mobsters the way I do, that is never going to happen.
Enzo dips his chin as he looks to Dom. “Yeah, I grew up with this knucklehead. We’ve been tighter than brothers. But once we lay claim to a little real estate”—he lifts his beer and tips it toward Dom—“it was nice knowing you, brother. No offense.”
“No offense taken.” Dom lifts his own beer. “It’s all business.”
“Speaking of business.” I look to my little sister and Tilly. “In case you didn’t hear it the first time, I’m done.”
Tilly shakes her head. “Well, we’re not. We’re up next on stage.”
The current cheery Christmas carol comes to a crashing end, and before I know which way is up or down, I’m on stage singing “Jingle Bells” with Stephanie and Tilly. And every time we get to the chorus, these two salacious sweethearts start shaking their bells much to the rowdy crowd’s approval.
So on the next chorus, I do the only thing I can—I join in.
We shake, jiggle, and wiggle as the entire establishment breaks out into a riot of laughter, and just as we wrap it up, I spot a certain best-selling author turned homicide detective standing with a sober expression, arms crossed over his deliciously broad slightly judgmental and perhaps genuinely jealous chest.
We hop off stage, and I hop right into Shepherd Wexler’s arms.
“How’d you like the vocals, Honey Buns?”
“Were there vocals?” He almost smiles. “I’d best reevaluate at my place. Are you up for a repeat performance, Kitten?”
My cheeks heat every time he says that nickname, and this is no exception.
“I’ll bring the donuts,” I say.
“Good thinking. We’ll need the carbs to refuel.”
Sounds like a delicious time will be had by all.
I spot Carol examining us as we leave, and that cold look in her eyes says so much more than a single word she uttered.
Chapter 6
Last night, Shep and I engaged in a rather prolonged and heated make-out session in which I pointed out he didn’t have his tree yet and he brought up the fact that neither did I. And in the end, neither of us really cared. Did I mention there were heated kisses involved? His windows were dripping wet from all the steam we were letting off by the time I left.
But, in a holiday-inspired turn of events, Shep decided to cut out of work early this evening to take Pixie and me on an official holiday date at the Merry and Bright Tree Lot just down the street from the Mortimer Manor. The lot itself sits on an acreage sprawl. There are huge red and white tents to the right with trees of every shape and size tucked safely away from the snow. And to the left there’s a tre
e farm where you can go and hack down an evergreen of your very own. Since Shep and I sort of co-own this little sweet pink kitty, I thought it’d be fun to bring Pixie along for the ride. Plus, it gives her a chance to have a change of scenery. Staring at Stephanie’s trail of laundry snaking around the cabin can get old real fast.
I take a look around the tree lot on this fine and snowy evening, with its strings of twinkle lights, the fresh scent of miles and miles of evergreens, and it’s all achingly romantic. It’s the perfect first official holiday date. And it’s also inspired a couple of tagalongs to hitch for the ride.
Stephanie digs her fists in her hips as she takes a look around. “If this isn’t the cutest little tree lot just this side of the Mason-Dixon line, then I’m not Lola Binx.” She winks over at Pixie. “I’m not”—she whispers just out of earshot of Tilly—“but that doesn’t change my position on the place. Look at all the twinkle lights, the yummy hot cocoa stand, the wreath making station where I could potentially whip up a holiday wonder, or blunder—and oh, look! They’ve even got a holiday photo booth! That’s perfect. I can’t wait to get my picture taken with my two naughty Santas.”
“Lola,” I hiss. “Please tell me you’re not encouraging those two wise guys to lurk around Starry Falls.”
“You say lurk, I say hot date. I texted Enzo to meet up with me here, but he said he’s gotta bring Dom, too. They still haven’t decided which one gets me yet.” She shrugs. “They’re feuding families in-training. You have to start somewhere.”
Tilly leans in. “I hope they finish up their feud before the big day because I’m hoping to find your discard in my stocking come Christmas morning.”
I can’t help but frown over at the two of them. They’re adorably bunched in matching sparkly puffer jackets, wrapped tightly in chunky knit scarves, beanies, and mittens. It’s almost impossible to be mad at them, but I’ve managed to find a way.
Stephanie suggested we go shopping one day soon to load up on cute winter gear. Right now, we’re floating off of Tilly’s discards, and those include the discards of her daughter Jessie, as well.
A Candy Cane Cat-astrophe Page 5
