A thump like that can be a heart stopper. What in the world is she thinking?
Frisk says something to her before he grabs her by the arm and hustles her out the door.
How do you like that? They’re just a couple of hotheads. I bet they get off on that behavior. Ten bucks says I’d probably find them making out like a couple of teenagers if I went out there. I guess it makes sense. They’re both relatively aggressive for a living. They probably have a constant stream of aggression they need to get out of their system.
The song changes pace, to something a little more upbeat, and soon every sweaty body in the vicinity is jumping up and down to the perky rhythm. I hear the words hot date, I’m late, wood chipper, and I promptly tune out. Sounds like a cautionary tale to me.
Shep steps into my line of vision, and to my horror he’s got a hand on each of Dom and Enzo’s necks.
“Holy Cannoli, Batman!” I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, and when I open them, Shep, Dom, and Enzo have all done a disappearing act.
Great. Just my luck.
I bet the morons have taken Shep out back to shoot him with his own gun. And I wouldn’t put it past them to take off one of Shep’s shoes and beat him with it, too, after the fact. They’re bullies that way.
It takes a solid half hour for me to migrate my way to the door, and it’s like giving birth just squeezing myself through the crowd.
I finally manage my way into the icy night air and nearly land on my face as I stagger into the snowy lot.
“Shep?” I call out, and my voice echoes back to me. There’s not a living soul out here. And it only confirms my suspicions that all of Vermont has drained into that tiny hot box behind me. You can’t just throw a bunch of oiled-up women at each other, have a mediocre country crooner as halftime entertainment, and not expect them to show up in droves.
Something shiny to my left catches my eye, and I can’t seem to identify it from this distance. It’s glistening like a fallen star right there in the snow, and I quickly make my way over to it. Why do I get the feeling it’s too late to pray that Shep doesn’t have any silver fillings?
Then slowly the shape takes form, and I gasp as I step in close.
“Shep?” I scream as I run toward a man lying facedown in the snow, a silver sequin scarf still clutched in his hand. The snow around his midsection is pooling with a brilliant shade of crimson, and it stops me in my tracks.
But it’s not Shepherd Wexler who’s lying motionless in the night with a bullet wound in his back.
Frisk Foster won’t have to worry about retirement.
Frisk Foster is dead.
Chapter 3
“He’s dead,” I say to no one in particular as a plume of white fog billows from my mouth.
“Who’s dead?” a female voice shrills from behind, while Stephanie, Tilly, and Opal howl out an aria of bloodcurdling screams into the night.
But I’m too stunned to harmonize with them at the moment. Instead, I stagger forward and eye that silver scarf in the dead man’s hand. I’m positive I saw it on someone earlier, but my mind is frazzled, and I can’t quite pinpoint who.
There’s a smattering of what looks like quarter-sized blue discs lying next to him in the snow, and along with them is a set of footsteps heading toward the woods with a distinct striped formation to them as well as tiny dots in the middle.
“Bowie?” Shep’s voice echoes loud and sharp, and before we know it, he’s standing over Frisk Foster’s lifeless body. He lets a few expletives fly before dropping to his knees and checking the man’s vitals. “He’s gone.” He punches into his phone for help, and less than a few seconds go by before the place is swarming with sheriff’s deputies.
Stephanie, Tilly, and Opal have traded their arias for whimpering sobs as Shep comes my way.
“Are you all right?” He wraps his arms around me and looks intently into my eyes as if he were trying to read my mind.
“I’m fine. I came out here looking for you. Are you all right?” I pull back and examine him in the event he’s absorbed a few bullets himself. His body is still intact, and his features are still perfectly chiseled by the hand of God. “Thank goodness they didn’t rearrange your face. Or I’d have to—”
“Rearrange their faces?” His brows hike amused.
“I was going to reference their meat and potatoes, but we can go with faces for now.”
Shep winces before nodding over to the sheriff’s deputies circling around Frisk’s body like a bunch of government-issued vultures.
“I’ve got to take care of this. Did you see anything, Bowie?”
“Yup. He’s clutching a silver sequin scarf. And there are tiny blue discs scattered around him. Oh, and don’t forget the footprints that lead to the woods.”
“Got it.” He glances to the row of evergreens just as his partner in crime down at the Woodley Sheriff’s Department, and the exact woman Shep pledged to spend the rest of his life with at one point, his ex-fiancée, Nora Grimsley, pops up.
“Bowie,” she says my name, and it comes out more of a threat than a greeting. “Did you kill that man?”
“No. I found him.”
She shakes her head over at Shep.
Nora Grimsley is a pretty brunette who also happens to be tough as nails. But even though the two of them were once engaged, they had an amicable breakup and have somehow managed to remain friends, which is a bigger venture than anything I’ve dared to enter into with any of my exes.
“That’s too many corpses in too little time,” she snips his way. “There comes a point where we need to stop believing in coincidences.”
“That’s not today.” Shep doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Head over to the victim, Nora. I’ll be there in a moment.”
She jabs her fingers toward her eyes and then mine, letting me know in no uncertain terms she’s watching me.
“Perfect,” I say to Shep. “Just what I need. The feds, the mob, Dom, Enzo, and Nora after me, too. My life is now complete.”
He flexes a short-lived smile. “Don’t worry about Nora. Why don’t you get the girls back inside? I’ve got this, Bowie,” he says sternly, and I know for a fact he’s politely asking me to stay out of this investigation.
I’ve been known to poke my nose into an active homicide case or two.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” I concede with a shrug.
Shep and I go our separate ways as I join Stephanie, Tilly, and Opal.
“Let’s get inside, ladies,” I say. “I’m about to freeze my pencil erasers right off.”
Opal frowns. “Bowie. There are strangers in our midst.” She leans in. “A lady doesn’t mention body parts freezing and falling off in front of mixed company.” She makes a face at her chest. “Now excuse me while I get inside before Mystery Babylon falls right off the map.”
She treads past me and my mouth falls open as Tilly and Stephanie head my way.
“I think Opal just called her hooters—”
“Mystery Babylon,” Tilly finishes for me. “That nickname is a well-known fact around these parts.”
My mouth opens and closes. “I don’t think I need to know why.”
“Speaking of needing to know why,” Tilly snips. “Bowie, what’s going on? Do you know who killed that man? Did you, you know, see it?”
“Or did you do it?” a deep voice calls out from behind, and both Stephanie and I seize.
Tilly’s lips swim with a flirtatious smile. “Well hello, big boys. I was wondering when we’d see the two of you again. And believe me, it hasn’t been soon enough.”
“Believe me, Tilly, it’s far too soon.” I cringe as I turn around, and sure enough, there they are, the two Italian Stallion steeds who have been vexing me for the last few weeks, Domenico Canelli and Enzo Lazzari. They’re both somewhere close enough to thirty, both fit and full of way too much ego—and they’re both firmly tied to the mob.
Dom has the face of a Roman statue, dark hair, hazel eyes, a perennial smirk, and a sixteen-y
ear-old version of himself running around on the planet. Newsflash: Dom’s not gunning for father of the year.
Enzo has dark wavy hair, eyes the color of summer rain, and a permanent scowl that revs my sister’s engine twice as much as that smarmy greasy grin of Dom’s. But tawdry truth be told, she’d take either one of them. That whole sleeping with the enemy thing has always enticed her far more than it has disturbed her.
“Tilly”—I say without looking at her—“would you check on Opal for me? I want to make sure Mystery Babylon doesn’t have frostbite.”
“What?” Tilly hisses. “And leave this sexy party? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to score one of these stud muffins for yourself. You do realize you’ve got Shepherd Wexler on the line. I’d be slow to cut him loose. I don’t care if Regina Valentine gave you her blessing.” She says those last words in air quotes. “She’s still waiting down below with her giant maw open, anxious to swallow that man whole. And she will find him delicious to the very last bite. That girl has enjoyed herself a Sexy Wexy meal before and let the whole world know he was finger lickin’ good.”
“Oh, would you stop.” I shudder. “Fine.” I grit my teeth, both my eyes and my anger very much focused on the wannabe gangsters in front of me. “You’re spoiling the surprise.” I glance to Tilly. “Stephanie and I were in the middle of setting you up on a blind date with one of these slices of beefcake for your birthday, and now you’ve done ruined it.”
Tilly gasps as her eyes round out. “Really?” Her voice pitches with far too much carnal excitement than should ever be legal when less than ten feet from a corpse. “Oh my goodness! Which one do I get? Wait! Don’t tell me. I really do want it to be a surprise.” She gives a cheeky wink over to the boys in question. “It doesn’t matter because one of you is about to get very, very lucky.” She looks back to Steph and me and giggles like a madwoman. “By the way, my birthday isn’t until March, but I’ll gladly accept all gifts anyone is willing to give me, especially the ones that involve beefcake. I’ll go make sure Opal’s Mystery Babylon hasn’t fallen off.” She waves to the wicked among us as she trots past them. “Ta-ta for now!”
Dom nods my way. “So, did you do it?” That smirk plays on his lips. “Did you pull the trigger for old times’ sake, Stella?”
“Are you crazy?” I leap forward and smack him silly on the arm. “Let’s get one thing straight. My name is Bowie Binx, and this is my sister, Lola. If you ever get our names wrong again, I’m going to pluck the gun right off of your body and pistol-whip you with it. Got it?”
“Okay, okay.” Dom holds his arms up as a dark chuckle streams from him.
“All right”—Enzo shrugs—“we won’t out you to the fine people of Starry Falls.”
“You won’t out us to anyone.” I jab a finger to his rock-hard chest. “Now, what do you want?”
Enzo lifts his chin. “We won’t out you, sweetheart, but we’re going to require something in exchange.” His eyes ride up and down my body.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Stephanie throws herself in front of me like a human shield. “Let’s get another thing straight. My sister’s body is off-limits. She’s practically engaged to some medigan. If you want a body to ravage, you’ll have to take mine.”
I roll my eyes.
First, medigan is almost an offensive term that means anyone not from Italy, and yet specifically from the U.S. In other words, America. I never liked hearing my father and his friends use the term, and I certainly don’t like Stephanie referring to Shep that way.
And second, my sister’s battle cry to offer up her body for the greater good is nothing more than a thinly veiled proposition on her part. She’s had the hots for these two ever since she laid eyes on them back in December.
“Good to know, sweetheart.” Dom gives an approving nod her way while checking out the merchandise with his roving eyes. “We’ll keep that in mind. But we didn’t come this way to deal with you ladies.”
“Not yet.” Enzo doesn’t hesitate to add the threat.
Mallory, Meg, and Simone pop up, each in a heavy coat, because obviously they are quite interested in preserving their own sets of Mystery Babylon.
Mallory, the blonde with the model-like face, takes a quick breath once she sees the sight behind me.
“It’s true,” she pants. “He’s dead.”
A horrible moan comes from Meg, and that dark bird’s nest she calls hair wobbles over the top of her head. I’ll admit, a part of me expects a couple of miniature blue eggs to topple right out of it.
“I thought this kind of thing only happened to my sister.” Meg gives a suspicious glance around the vicinity. “You haven’t seen a knocked up woman with caramel-colored hair walking around with a platter of cookies, have you?”
“No.” I give the two men before me a dirty look. “But I’ve seen far more likely suspects.”
“Hey”—Dom raises his hands—“there’s no way you can pin this on us. We were with your boyfriend.”
“That’s right.” Enzo nods in Shep’s direction. “We’ve got a solid alibi.”
Darn it.
So they do.
A part of me was hoping they’d go up the river and my time in Starry Falls would be just as carefree as it was before they entered the picture and mucked it all up with their threats and their hard bodies.
I might be serious with Shep, but it doesn’t mean I’m blind.
Dom turns to Mallory and Simone. “We’re here for you ladies. I’d like to make you a deal.”
Simone’s coat parts in the front, and I catch a glimpse of that bronze bikini of hers and her bare neck.
The scarf! The sequin scarf that the deceased is still clutching—it belonged to Leave ’em Moaning Simone! More like Leave ’em Dead as a Doornail, but I don’t want to let on that I’m in on her murderous secret. I’ll tell Shep as soon as we’re alone.
Simone flicks back her flowing red mane, and it gleams like a flame against the snowy white backdrop.
“Well then.” Her voice dips down to her lower register as she postures herself in full flirt mode toward the mobsters in front of us. “Thank you boys for coming. I hope you like what you see.”
Stephanie growls in protest and I step on her foot to temper her.
Simone nods to the devils among us. “What is it that we can do for you, boys?”
Before they can answer, Wendy saunters up, panting while pulling a crimson coat tightly around her body. Her black pleather boots ride up to her knee, and I can’t help but note how cute they look.
“What the heck is going on?” Her breathing is labored, and as she looks past me, her face bleaches out. “Is that—tell me that’s not Frisk.”
“It’s him,” I say lower than a whisper.
“He’s gone.” Wendy staggers a moment as she tries to step that way. “And he won’t be coming back,” she whispers.
Wendy’s dark hair frames her face with a fringe of bangs as it touches down around her neck. It’s so dark it makes her skin glow a sickly pale shade. Her almond-shaped eyes squint that way, and she’s gone from horrified to looking darn right angry.
Simone shudders as she steps up next to her friend. “He’s dead.” The words come from her cold. “And that’s the end of that.”
Stephanie and I exchange a glance. Odd words. But then, we’re dealing with an odd group of women.
Simone nods to Dom and Enzo. “You were about to say something?”
Dom’s lips flicker. “My buddy here and I just opened up a couple of snazzy joints in Scooter Springs.”
Enzo cocks his head their way. “I’m looking to host some female wrestling myself to drive business. I’ll pay top dollar and you can set your own hours. We’re talking mud wrestling, baby oil, wet T-shirts. Classy stuff like that.”
“Done.” Simone’s chest bucks as if she were flattered. “Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”
“Same here,” Wendy says. “Simone and I are both from Scooter Spri
ngs. In fact, that’s where we’re staying. It sounds like the perfect gig until we head back to Vegas in a couple of weeks.”
“I’m in.” Meg shrugs. “I may not be looking for a third job, but being back in the ring tonight—it’s safe to say I’ve been bitten by the wrestling bug once again. I’ll be commuting from Honey Hollow, but it’s not that far.”
The three women all look to Mallory, but the blonde’s attention is fully focused on the corpse at hand.
“Yes,” she says faintly as her eyes go vacant. “I’ll do it.” She takes a deep breath. “Goodbye, Frisk.” A weak laugh strums from her. “I guess it’s onward and forward from here on out.”
Dom and Enzo get right to giving them the information they need to make this oily transaction happen, but my feet drift back toward the crime scene.
Frisk Foster, the man who worked intimately with the wrestling divas among us, is dead. And yet not one of those women has bothered to shed a tear, let alone hold a moment of silence.
Mallory’s battle cry of onward and forward seemed off to me. Simone’s strange statements, He’s dead. And that’s the end of that, don’t sit well with me either. And Wendy’s declarations of, He’s gone. And he won’t be coming back, were equally suspicious.
Something tells me these three women aren’t in the least bit concerned that someone out there shot Frisk Foster in cold blood. It wouldn’t shock me to find out one of them pulled the trigger.
The man in the dark suit, the one with the scruffy beard that was shaking Frisk by the shirt, steps up to the scene of the crime and stops to stare down at the lifeless body before him. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but I’d bet money his lips just curled.
Is that a...smile?
Well, well, if it isn’t another contender for the I killed Frisk Foster Award.
Meg shuffles up next to me, warming her arms with her hands as a steady stream of fog billows from her.
“If they really want to solve this case, they should head to Honey Hollow and consult my sister,” she says. “Lottie Lemon is a real pro when it comes to solving a homicide. But—I’m relieved that for once it wasn’t her who stumbled upon the body.”
A Purr-fect Storm Page 3
