I pop another bite-size lemon tart into my mouth. It’s number sixteen or twenty-six. I stopped keeping track after the first dozen.
The Country Cottage Café has been baking them nonstop, and I’ve kept a platter on the reception counter for the guests. It’s just me at the helm for now. Grady will be in soon for the late shift. I was hoping Georgie and Juni would have tracked down Brooklynn Knight by now, but no such luck.
Gatsby comes up and taps his paw against my thigh. You look like you need a pat on the back. I can’t reach, but how about a pat on the leg? He taps his paw over me again and again.
“Aw, thank you. And you’re spot-on.” I bend over and give him a kiss on the furry forehead. “You have the most beautiful big brown eyes and longest eyelashes. And you’re always smiling. Did you know that? I bet you do that on purpose, you’re just so sweet.”
Fish yowls. I think Gatsby is sweet, too. She stretches her front paws over the marble counter and they glide forward, seemingly forever as she arches her back. Can we keep him, Bizzy?
Sherlock barks. He can stay, if he has to.
I can’t help but note the not-so-veiled jealous tone in his voice. The animals always seem to understand what they’re saying by way of the tiniest mewl or bark.
“Come here, Sherlock.” I make my way around the counter as he walks up to me. “I love you. Yes, I do.” I give his large bat ears a quick jiggle. “You are so precious, and smart and funny. And you’re pretty cute, too.”
“That’s what all the girls say,” a masculine voice chirps from behind and I turn to find my brother standing tall in all his Baker glory.
“Huxley.” I perk up and straighten. “What are you doing here?” I head over and pull him into a quick hug. His dark hair is wavy enough to give it some body, and those pale eyes of his stand out like sirens against his dark suit. “Did you just come from work?”
“Actually”— his head twitches to the side—“I just came from an early dinner with our mother, the book thief.”
I make a face. “How’s she doing? Last I spoke to her, neither of us had been properly caffeinated and things went sideways quickly.”
“Did she accuse you of stealing the book?”
“No. But she did say she was going to look into buying me an evil eye pendant for Christmas. She thinks I’ve got a dark cloud of bad luck following me around.”
He shrugs. “She brought it up to me—the jewelry. Don’t look so down. She’s talking diamonds and sapphires. It’ll look nice.”
“Well, I won’t wear it. For one, it’s against my religion. And two, I don’t believe in bad luck.”
“Bad luck believes in you.” Hux claps his hands and both Gatsby and Sherlock head his way.
“You’re not funny.”
Fish lets out a tiny meow. He does have a point.
I shoot her a look.
“Okay, fine. You’ve got a point.” I turn to my brother. “So how did dinner go last night?”
He winces. “That’s actually why I’m here.” He gives Gatsby a quick pat before straightening. “What’s this tension I sensed with you last night? Is there something going on between you and Mackenzie?”
I give a hard blink. “You could say that.”
“How long has this been going on?” He looks genuinely baffled.
“Let’s see, technically, since I was thirteen,” I say, stepping over and picking up Fish and holding her close like a shield. I might need it. Mack has always been trouble whether or not she’s here in person. “Did you know she tossed me into a whiskey barrel full of water and rotten apples? Fast forward to high school—she snatched every one of my boyfriends out from under me.”
Hux squeezes his eyes shut. “Bizzy. If they left, it wasn’t meant to be. She was doing you a favor.”
A choking sound emits from my throat.
“Huxley Baker! You’re my brother. It’s your job to stick up for me even if it is years after the fact. And just FYI, I haven’t been the same ever since that whiskey barrel incident. Let’s just say she gave me one heck of a parting gift that afternoon.”
Fish lets out a riotous meow. And you’re a better woman for it. She did you a favor, Bizzy. If Mayor Woods hadn’t pushed you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Maybe she’s not all that bad.
“Oh, Fish.” I give her a quick kiss just above her nose.
“Bizzy.” Hux taps my arm gently. “You’re adults now. And we had a nice time last night.” Even nicer once I got her back to my place.
“Oh my God!” I swat him. “You dog!”
Sherlock barks. What’s wrong with dogs?
“You’re right, Sherlock. There’s nothing wrong with dogs. Hux, you’re a beast. How could you?”
He inches back. “What exactly am I being accused of?” I think I know, but I should probably play it coy.
“Don’t you play coy with me. You know what you did and with whom.”
“I swear, Biz”—Hux takes Fish from me and plants a kiss to her head—“sometimes it’s like you can read my mind.”
“That’s because you’re an open book. And you’re my brother. Please tell me this thing you have with Mack is just a flash in the bed pan.”
He chuckles. “The two of you used to be friends. Move on from the past. Who knows? You might even be friends again one day. She might be Mrs. Baker number four. You never know. She seemed to have a really good time.” And she’s called twice today begging for more.
I moan at the thought. “I guess I don’t have any say in it, do I?”
Fish mewls. Oh, who cares? Once he’s done with her, he’ll throw her to the curb.
Hux leans in to hook my gaze. “Bizzy, I care about how you feel. And to be honest, I didn’t think you’d care who I was with. And because you feel so strongly, I’ll tread lightly.”
“I’d appreciate it. Don’t let your guard down for one minute. The girl is a barracuda.”
“I can vouch for that.” He waggles his brows.
“Eww.” I give him a playful swat before he hands me Fish. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know an attorney by the name of Brooklynn Knight, would you? She worked on one of Juni’s cases in the past. She was at Killer Books the night of the homicide. I guess she owns a stake in it.”
Hux arches his head back. “Brooklynn Knight. Is she hot?”
“Hux.”
“What? I’m a guy.” He pulls his phone out. “I’ve got a secretary that claims to know everything about everybody. I’m about to test her on that.” His fingers dance across his screen and he hits send.
Gatsby walks up and lands his paw over Huxley’s leg. Pet me, please.
I bite down on a laugh. “I think Gatsby wants your attention.”
“Come here, big guy.” Hux gives the mammoth pooch a nice rubdown over the back and I’d swear on all that is good, Gatsby just laughed up a storm.
Huxley’s phone pings and he holds it out to read it.
“Wow.” His ears pull back. “Here’s something you don’t see every day.”
“If it’s an indecent picture of Brooklynn, I think I’ll pass.
“No, not that. She’s been disbarred. My secretary doesn’t know why.”
“What? We have to find out why.” I’m not sure why, but I’ve got a gut feeling it could be pertinent.
“I guess I’ll have to do some digging. But it could be anything from stealing from clients, committing a felony, or general client neglect. That’s a shame.”
“Hey, ask your secretary if she knows what Brooklynn is doing now?”
He glides his thumb across the screen, and no sooner does he hit send than a link pops up on his screen.
“She works nights at a place called Renegades.” He squints at the screen. “Out in Seaview.”
“Renegades.” I nod as I say it.
“Bizzy.” The tone in his voice alone scolds me. “Don’t do anything dangerous.”
“What? I was just thinking about bringing some lemon tarts to my favorite homicide d
etective. I’m practically headed that way.”
He cocks his head as if calling me out on the lie.
“Relax. I’m headed to see my fiancé, who happens to be packing heat. What could possibly go wrong?”
“For the average person? Nothing. For you? Don’t trip over a body, Biz. And do not make a move without Jasper.” He gives Gatsby and Sherlock a quick pat as he heads for the door.
“You bet,” I say.
“Steer clear of trouble. I mean it,” he bellows while walking backward.
“Heed your own words,” I shout back.
Hux belts out a laugh as he heads on out. “I sure will.”
Something tells me he won’t.
Chapter 13
Renegades is a retro club of sorts for the older set.
Each week boasts of a rockin’ boppin’ theme, per the sign on the window, and this week’s party is all about the eighties.
Lucky for me, I’m a closet fan of neon and mesh, so I was able to outfit both Juni and me with enough bright colors to make every star in the solar system jealous. I could have outfitted Georgie as well, but she wasn’t as cooperative. Instead, Georgie donned a silver lame kaftan that has heads turning every which way and not necessarily in this direction—some are looking to flee. And across the front of that tin treasure she’s donned, in large black letters, it reads Georgie Say Relax.
“You like?” Georgie holds the front of the foil wonder out. “I made it myself. It’s a play on the old Frankie Say Relax shirts they had back in the day. Believe it or not, I used to call this little ball of tinsel my good luck charm. It screams take me to your love dungeon.”
“Mama”—Juni shakes her head at the silver blight—“that outfit screams take me to your leader.”
Georgie waves her off. “I’ll have you know, I pulled this one out of the vault. It’s a genuine beauty circa 1981. It was my favorite hunting outfit back in the day.”
“Georgie, I didn’t know you hunted?” I can’t imagine Georgie hurting an animal no matter how hungry she might be. And she’d never do it for sport.
“Are you kidding?” She irons out the front of the foil frock with her hands. “I caught so many stags with this number, my trophy wall filled up faster than a buttered bullet.”
Juni blinks first. “What trophy wall?”
“The one in my bedroom,” Georgie is quick to inform her.
“The wall with all the bottle caps?” I ask. It’s true. Georgie has a wall of old bottle caps that spell out love.
“That’s the one.” She grins our way. “Each bottle cap represents one shining night, courtesy of this little number right here.”
My mouth falls open. “One for each night? There must be a hundred bottle caps at least. Please tell me all that happened was a rousing game of Scrabble.”
She ticks her head to the side. “All that happened was a rousing game of Scrabble.” She nudges her elbow to Juni’s side. “Let’s just say my gentleman friends and I each hit triple scores.”
The two of them hoot and holler and I navigate us inside before I’m officially blinded by Georgie’s accouterment and her storytelling. And how I pray that trashy tale was fabricated.
Outside, Renegades looks more or less like a barn. Inside, it smells like one. Loud eighties music pumps through the speakers. It’s dark, save for the swirling lights spraying a neon display of color every which way. Bodies upon bodies are standing and chatting, swaying their hips to the music while out in the center of the room a full-blown dance floor is filled with gyrating limbs.
Juni holds out her arms. “Now here are some moves I haven’t seen since the eighties. I’ve officially found my people.”
We head deeper into the establishment and the scent of cheap cologne mingles with that of hairspray—and for good reason. Every woman here looks as if they were attacked with a teasing comb as their hair stands on end, perfectly shellacked and frozen, fanning over their skulls like a prickly halo.
Juni gasps, “Would you get a load of these men?”
I squint out at the crowd and the throwback vibes these men are putting out is pretty amazing.
“No kidding,” I say. “And check it out. Some of them have really got that Flock of Seagulls hair thing going on.”
“Seagulls love me.” Georgie leans in. “Watch the master at work, girls.” She takes a few bold steps into the center of the room, and slowly but surely those men with their hair frozen in time begin to gravitate her way as if she were some kind of a silver homing beacon they were drawn to.
“Would you look at that?” Juni marvels. “There’s got to be five if there aren’t ten.”
My jaw goes slack as an entire crowd of men, young and old, gathers around Georgie as if she were giving away money.
I knock Juni in the ribs. “She’s not giving away money, is she?”
“Nope. That woman is a testosterone magnet. And lucky for me, the fruit didn’t fall far from the hot-to-trot tree. I’m off to scoop up her leftovers. Wish me luck.” She speeds into the knot of humanity, and I’m in awe of the fact Georgie Conner is able to drain the room of all its men as they magnetize to that metallic dress of hers. Honest to God, it’s like watching a bunch of drones magnetize to their tinsel decorated queen.
A new song, “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s, pulsates throughout the speakers, and the room explodes with screams as everyone around me begins to swing their arms in wide gyrating moves that look loosely coordinated.
Now, where could Brooklynn Knight be in this mass of humanity?
I’m about to step over to the bar and ask around when I spot Brooklynn herself out in the wild. Everything in me freezes as I’m caught off guard by how easy that was. There she is, working alongside a couple of other bartenders, and I watch as she slides an electric blue drink toward one of her customers.
But I don’t head to the bar first. Instead, I make a beeline to that jumble of limbs ahead of me and manage to pluck both Juni and the happy hunter out of range of all those grabby testosterone-riddled hands.
“You weren’t kidding, Georgie. That shiny dress really knows how to bring the boys to the yard.” And I’m not teasing. I’m half-afraid a handful of them will follow us home. “But it’s time to get to work.” I nod to the bar and Juni gasps.
“Lookie, lookie, it’s good ol’ Brookie.” Juni rubs her hands together. “Let’s head on over and shake her down good.”
I pull her back by the crook of her elbow. “No, no. I’m doing the shaking, remember? You’re simply making pleasant conversation with her.”
Georgie claps her hands. “Done deal.”
Both Georgie and Juni speed on over before I can stop them. Georgie bumps a woman in a hot pink dress off the end stool, freeing up three seats in a row.
“Well, look who’s here!” Juni slaps a hand over the counter as Brooklynn snaps her head in our direction.
Dear God, say it isn’t so. Brooklynn manufactures a tight smile as she makes her way over. Her light brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing a neon green sweatshirt that has had its neck cut off, ala Flashdance. Her skin looks thick, her marionette lines are heavy, and she has dark circles under her eyes as if she hasn’t slept in weeks. Not that I’m surprised. It’s so pulsating loud in here, I’m sure she hears this music long after she leaves the place. I may not sleep for a year, and it’s been less than ten minutes for me.
Brooklynn takes a deep breath. “Well, if it isn’t Juniper Moonbeam, all decked out and ready to party like it’s 1989.” She shoots Juni with her fingers.
Juni nods. “That’s right. And you remember my mama, Georgie, and my friend, Bizzy. We were all there the night that book dude got whacked with the working end of a butcher knife. I still see his blood in my sleep.”
And there goes any hope of pleasant conversation. When will I learn my lesson with this woman?
At least they’re not interrogating her.
Georgie leans her way. “What about it, toots? How well did yo
u know the deceased? And was that his blood on your hands?”
Brooklynn blinks back. “I didn’t have any blood on my hands.” Did I?
“That was me.” I make a face over at my comrades in investigative arms. “I’m the one who had blood on my hands.” I nod over at her. “What’s the drink of the night?” If I weren’t driving, I’d ask for twelve.
“Purple Rain,” Brooklynn answers with a genuine enthusiasm for her job. “Vodka and cranberry juice.”
Georgie waves a few bills at her. “We’ll take three.”
“Make mine a virgin.” I shrug over at her.
Brooklynn wrinkles her nose my way as she gets right to work. “You’re the DD, huh? Designated driver?”
“Yup. That would be me.”
She ticks her head to the side. “I’ll add a few syrups to it and jazz it up a bit for you. So were you ladies getting lucky on the dance floor?”
“That would be my mother.” Juni reaches over and steals the cherry off a drink from the lady on the other side of her.
Georgie snaps her fingers. “I’m slaying it, as the kids like to say.”
Brooklynn belts out a laugh over the music. “Somehow I knew you would. How could you not in that dress? What did you make it out of? One of those emergency sleeping bags?”
Georgie glances to the ceiling. “I’ll have you know they made those sleeping bags out of my dress. Or in the least they’re cut from the same cloth. So what’s the deal with the bartending gig? I guess it’s true what they say. The law doesn’t pay.”
I cringe. “I think the saying goes, it doesn’t pay to break the law.”
Brooklynn lands all three of our drinks before us and both Georgie and Juni dive after them as if it were a free-for-all.
Georgie takes a few heroic gulps and immediately spits it out. “Bleh.” She pushes it my way. “I think I got your poison.” She pulls in the drink that was sitting in front of me and takes a careful sip before giving a thumbs-up. “There’s the vodka.” She touches her elbow to mine. Go ahead, Biz. Lay the heat on her. I’m here for the show. Make her weep into her Gray Goose. Nothing goes better with vodka than the tears of a killer’s regret.
A Killer Tail Page 10
