The Devil Wears Tank Tops

by Destiny Ford

  I looked at Hawke. “Apparently my mom’s up. Do you want to eat?”

  “Sure.” He followed me into the kitchen. “Hawke’s here,” I said as I shuffled over the slate tile. My mom turned around and I froze, staring at her, my eyes almost popping out of their sockets. She looked like she’d fallen down the stairs…or something equally as horrible.

  “What happened to you?” I was highly alarmed. Maybe all of the blood vessels around her eyes had collapsed. We needed to get her to a hospital immediately!

  I caught sight of my dad behind her, shaking his head with wide eyes. I ignored it, and went back to my mom. “Did you get in another car accident this morning? I didn’t even hear you leave! Did an air bag do this?” I was already preparing my story and thinking of people to call for interviews and quotes. People needed to be warned about the dangers! I stopped, taking in the various shades of blues and blacks, another possibility coming to my mind. “Or did someone beat you up?” Maybe she’d followed through with her plan of fair-cookie vengeance, and one of the judges had fought back.

  “What are you talking about, you silly girl? Nothing happened.”

  “But, your eyes!” Another possibility sprung to my mind and I pointed at her. “Oh! I told you not to eat any more of those cookies!”

  I heard my dad interrupt with a warning cough, and looked at my mom. She seemed a little upset. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes! I’ll have you know, this is the latest style. It’s called a smoky eye, and you can do it with almost any color. I took a class.”

  I knew what a smoky eye was, and it certainly wasn’t that. “Who taught the class? You look like a gothic grandma!” Her face screwed up into an angry pout. I wasn’t sure what made her madder—that I didn’t like her makeup, or that I’d insinuated she was old enough to be a grandma.

  “It looks lovely, Mrs. Saxee,” Hawke said, smiling and taking her hand.

  She blushed. “Thank you, Hawke.”

  “Don’t encourage her!” I said.

  She turned to me. “See, Kate. That’s the proper way to treat someone. At least Hawke has manners.” She shook her head, disappointed. “I don’t know where you got yours from, but it certainly wasn’t me.”

  “No,” I said, folding my arms across my chest in defiance. “Someone who really cares about you will tell you when you look like a raccoon, and not let you go out in public that way.”

  She huffed, and folded her own arms across her chest, mimicking my stance. “Well, I think you’re being ridiculous. It’s not my fault you don’t keep up with current fashion trends. I’m not changing it.”

  I shook my head in defeat. That was one thing I loved about my mom, and something I’d inherited from her: her ability to stick her heels in and not move when she’d made a decision. She was as stubborn as an ox, and I was lucky to be her daughter.

  I released a deep breath. “You’re right, Mom,” I said, relenting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You should wear whatever makes you feel good, and if that makes you happy, you shouldn’t change it.”

  She beamed. “Thank you, Kate. Now,” she said, turning back to her ingredients on the counter, “who wants breakfast?”

  I helped my mom make waffles then we all sat down to eat. “What have you been up to lately, Hawke?” my mom asked. “I haven’t seen you around for a couple of weeks.”

  During a recent UFO investigation, I learned my mom and Hawke had been hanging out. The concept of the two of them as buddies was weirder than UFOs.

  “I’ve had some jobs out of state.”

  “Ooooo,” my mom said, interested. “Were you shooting things?”

  Apparently my mom was under the impression Hawke didn’t shoot people, just things. I, however, knew differently.

  Hawke leaned toward her. “If I told you, I’d get in a lot of trouble. But,” he said with a conspiratorial smile, “I’d consider it for you.”

  My mom’s grin lit up the room. “Well, hopefully you stay safe. Between the two of you,” she gestured between us, “I don’t do anything but worry.”

  Hawke looked up at me. “She’s giving me an ulcer, too.”

  “It’s really not my fault,” I said, swallowing my food.

  My mom, dad, and Hawke all exchanged a look. I recognized it, because it was the same look I usually shared with my dad after my mom had a Catasophie and declared it wasn’t her fault. “Hey!” I said, pointing at all of them. “It’s really not my fault! I’m just doing my job.”

  “Well,” my mom said in a huff, “I certainly wish your job was a little less dangerous.”

  “Me, too,” my dad said.

  “How’s the Mustang?” Hawke asked my dad, changing the subject.

  “It’s in the shop getting the carpets cleaned, and a detail done.”

  “At least it was something that could be fixed,” I offered.

  “Exactly!” my mom said. “That’s what I tried to tell him.”

  Given my dad’s glare, I had a feeling he wasn’t ready to look on the bright side.

  I finished my food and put my plate in the sink. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Spence telling me to come into the office as soon as possible.

  I looked at my parents and Hawke. “I have to go. Thanks for letting me stay over, Mom and Dad,” I kissed them both on the cheek. “And thanks for stopping by to check on me,” I said to Hawke. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  I got another text from Ella as I walked into the office.

  Drake’s Hummer and Hawke’s motorcycle were both at your house last night. Different times. Didn’t stay long. Everyone in the group thought you had a couple a quickies, but I told them you were staying at your parents’ house.

  I blew out a long sigh at the surveillance and reporting, but then smiled a little, thinking Drake and Hawke had both stopped to check on me, but neither one had mentioned it when I talked to them. I shoved my phone in my purse as I walked to my desk.

  “What’s up?” I asked Spence as I put my stuff down, and flipped on my laptop.

  “Billboards.”

  I arched a brow. “We have those in Branson.”

  “Not just here. All over the state. They have messages against the legalization of hemp oil, and they use the pot cookies as their reason for the dangers of allowing drugs to be legalized in any capacity.”

  “How did they get a marketing campaign up that fast?” The cookie story had just come out a couple of days ago.

  “They practically went up overnight. Marketing and PR companies are quick. I’m sure some organization jumped on the story, and thought it would be great to use in fear-based marketing. One of the ads has a picture of a little kid’s coffin with cookie crumbs all around it.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “That’s morbid.”

  “The campaign started this morning with billboards, but I just got word that it has spread to TV spots, radio, and it’s all over social media. The ads all have the disclaimer that they’re paid for by Concerned Citizens for Health.”

  I opened my browser and did a search for the billboards. Images came up quickly and I started clicking through them. I got to the third photo before I froze. “I recognize the girl in this ad.”

  Spence looked interested. “Someone you know?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. I’d seen her before though, twice. I did another quick search and soon had my answer. “The marketing company behind the billboards and ad campaign is Saffron Star PR.”

  “How do you know?” Spence asked.

  I gestured toward my screen. “The model was also in an ad for carpet cleaning. I noticed it at my mom’s the other day, and thought she looked familiar. I recognized her because she was in the About Us page photo on the Saints and Sinners cookie website.” Since the pot-spiked cookie news broke, the Saints and Sinners site had been taken down, but I was able to pull up a cached version with the photo to show Spence.

  “Marketing companies use the same models all the time,” Spence reasoned.
“If Saffron Star was hired to build the Saints and Sinners site, maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

  It was a possibility. Saffron Star had a lot of clients, including Brigham Smith, and if B.S. was investing in Saints and Sinners Cookies, they could have recommended Saffron Star’s services to Isaac Handler—who, incidentally, still hadn’t returned my calls. But there were too many links to ignore, and my gut told me Saffron Star, or someone involved with them, was playing a bigger role than just marketing and PR company.

  I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen against my thigh. “Can our private investigator look into Concerned Citizens for Health, and Saffron Star?”

  “I’ll email him right now.”

  “Thanks, Spence.”

  I settled into my work for the day, flipping through my notes. Things had been so hectic that I hadn’t even had a chance to look up information on Juan Carlotta. I’d meant to, but then cookies had exploded on my desk and a lot of things had fallen through the cracks. I typed Juan’s name into our background check service and waited for the information to come up. He was from South America, and had been in the United States illegally—like Bobby had said. He never stayed in one place too long, and seemed to be living out of hotels, if anything. It looked like he used cash most times, so he was hard to track.

  It didn’t look like Juan had any dealings with Kory Greer, and I probably would have been more likely to believe that if the police hadn’t found Juan’s arms and legs no longer attached to his body. Bobby had said the force of the explosion caused the mangled remains. But I thought there might be more to it. I picked up my phone.

  “What do you know about dismembering a body?” I asked when Hawke picked up.

  “Is there someone you need to dispose of, Kitty Kate?” His tone sounded amused.

  “Yeah,” I said, crossing one leg over the other, “the Ladies are high on that list.”

  “I could help with that.”

  “Your “help” is the reason I’m always in so much trouble with them to begin with.” I took a sip of the water on my desk. “The body found at the sugar factory no longer had arms and legs attached. The police think they were blown off during the explosion, but it seems weird that only those appendages would have been affected. Is there some reason arms and legs might be chopped off of a body before, or after, the person was killed?”

  Hawke paused, thinking. “It’s a pretty violent act. Someone who had a vendetta or something to prove. There’s a history for that sort of body mutilation in situations related to drug lords and organized crime.”

  There was? “Cutting off body parts is normal?”

  “The specific type of mutilation is like a calling card. It lets people know not to mess with the organization.”

  “That’s disturbing.”

  “It’s even more disturbing to see in person.”

  I pursed my lips. “Your job scares me sometimes.”

  “Ditto. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I hung up and thought about the body. If Juan was part of a drug ring or organized crime group, why was he killed and dismembered in the sugar factory? And what did it have to do with Kory Greer?

  I didn’t know a lot about organized crime and drug rings in Utah, but I knew someone who did. I picked up the phone and called my reporter friend, Karrie Williams.

  “Hi, Karrie. It’s Kate Saxee.”

  “Hey, Kate! I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  I didn’t expect it either. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

  “Sure, shoot.”

  “You mentioned the body you were investigating in Rowe, and that you thought it might have happened because of a drug deal. Was there anything strange about the body that made you consider drugs as the motive?”

  She paused for a minute. “Actually, there was. The body was missing both arms and legs. They’d been chopped off and left to the side of the body.”

  I knew it! Just like Juan’s body in the sugar factory. Minus the arms and legs being left to the side of the body. The explosion likely moved them to a different location. “Have you seen bodies dismembered like that before?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been covering the story for a while. There have been five similar bodies found across the state over the past six months. The body in Rowe belonged to an immigrant who was here on a work visa. He hadn’t been into work for more than a week, and then a jogger found his body in a field.”

  “Do you have any proof that the bodies are related to a drug ring?”

  “That’s what police think, but we haven’t been able to track down much information. That’s the problem with drugs,” Karrie said with a sigh. “Nothing is documented. It’s all done with cash, and it’s a pretty secretive business.”

  Hmmm, that didn’t help me.

  “There was a witness for the crime scene in Rowe,” Karrie said.

  My ears perked up at that.

  “The witness said they saw two men in their twenties leaving the scene of the crime soon after the time of death. The body was left in some brush next to a jogging trail. One of the suspects was Caucasian, and one Hispanic. The Caucasian guy had bright red burn marks on his right arm and the right side of his face that looked fairly recent.”

  Burn marks? I’d already been suspicious that the other bodies had a connection to Juan Carlotta’s. Now, my mind was piecing information together, forming a lead. The murder in Rowe happened after Juan was killed. If someone had murdered Juan at the sugar factory, there was a chance they might have gotten caught up in the explosion too. They weren’t dead, so they must have made it out, but the explosion would definitely explain the burn marks, especially if the marks looked like a recent injury. I had a feeling all of the murders were being carried out by the same two guys.

  “What’s going on? And if you tell me you have a body in Branson, I might phone slap you. I’ve already been up there once in the past week; I really don’t want to make that drive again.”

  I sympathized with her. I didn’t enjoy the drive either. “We had an explosion a few weeks ago, and a body was found. I think the victim might have been killed by the same men who killed the victim in Rowe.”

  Karrie blew out a breath. “Fantastic.”

  “Could you possibly send me a list of the dismembered bodies found recently?”

  “Sure, I’ll email it.”

  “That would be great. Thanks for your help, Karrie.”

  “Anytime, Kate. Call me when your info is drive-worthy.”

  “Deal.”

  I still didn’t know exactly how the murders were connected to the sugar factory, why Juan had been left there, or who had started the factory on fire, but drug dealing would definitely explain Kory Greer’s new financial status, and his Ferrari. I’d go through the list from Karrie as soon as I got it and see if I could make any connections. Then, I’d set up a time to talk to Kory Greer.

  Ella came in that afternoon and plopped down in the chair across from my desk. “Anyone try to kill ya today?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I thought so.”

  “There was another Facebook update about you a few hours ago. Your car and Hawke’s bike were seen at your parents’ house this morning.”

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I was either going to have to get used to the gossip, or move away. Otherwise, I was going to give myself a stress-induced heart attack. Who knew The Ladies would be more stressful than cookie bombs and email threats. “I didn’t want to be alone last night.”

  “I don’t blame ya, but Hawke should’ve hidden his hog.”

  Were bikes even called hogs anymore? “He just came over this morning to check on me. He had breakfast with my family, and then I left for work.”

  Ella held her hands up. “I’m sure it was innocent as all heck, but people are watchin’ and assumin’.”

  “It’s ridiculous,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “I give up. I can’
t regulate what everyone I know does, or make them park in special spots and sneak in side doors so they won’t be seen. I’m not going to try.”

  Ella gave me a sympathetic nod. “Well, since the cookie debacle, you haven’t been as much of a topic as usual.”

  I perked up. “I haven’t?”

  “Nope. Now people are mostly fightin’ over the pro-pot cookies, and the no-pot cookies. There’s even a website where people who still have some Saints and Sinners can sell ‘em.”

  “Seriously? So it’s eBay for pot fans?”

  “Pretty much. It’s called Cookie Crack.”

  “Creative.” Though not really accurate. “It should probably be called Cookie Hash.”

  “Not many people would get that,” Ella informed me as she stood to get a doughnut from the box Spence had brought in this morning. I was surprised she understood the reference.

  “I can’t believe the site hasn’t been found and shut down yet. Now that it’s public knowledge the cookies contain pot, anyone caught buying and selling them could go to federal prison for drug dealing.”

  Ella shrugged. “Guess people aren’t too concerned about that since they’re makin’ buckets of money.”

  Money that wouldn’t be too helpful once they were living out a real-life Orange is the New Black. “I’m sure the site will be taken down soon.”

  Ella took a bite of her doughnut. “So, tonight’s the big night, huh?”

  I pushed my brows together. “Big night? For what?”

  “Deflowerin’ Drake!”

  I snorted. “Drake’s deflowering happened a long time ago.” Before I even knew him, I was sure. “And definitely not by me.”

  “Where ya goin’?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I took a sip of water to try and masque my unease at not knowing the night’s plans. I didn’t like surprises.

  She gave a happy sigh, her eyelashes fluttering. “I betcha it will be somewhere romantic.”

  “I doubt it. It’s just a little date.”

  Ella laughed. “Honey,” she said, patting me on the shoulder, “a date with Dylan Drake is never just a date.”