Murder Wears a Little Black Dress

by Debra Sennefelder

  Frankie laughed again. “I’m sorry, but you’re so not the killer type.”

  “Is that so? Well, I wanted to murder you yesterday when I found you seated at the table with the medium. You think this is all funny, but it’s costing me business, and it may cost me my freedom if I’m charged with murder. This is serious, Frankie.”

  “I apologized, didn’t I? You know I couldn’t resist a séance with Valeria Leigh. She’s a legend around here.”

  “Pffft.” Kelly pushed her plate away. “So much for family loyalty.”

  “You know how much I dig paranormal stuff.” Frankie took another gulp of his beer before he polished off his scallops.

  “Do people still say ‘dig’?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “Jerk.” Kelly laughed, and her cousin joined in. Family. She couldn’t live with them and she couldn’t live without them. Especially the screwball cousin seated across from her.

  “You used to love Halloween. All the spooky, scary movies and crazy things we did. What happened?”

  “I grew up.”

  “I did too, but I still love all that stuff. You should loosen up a bit, cuz.”

  “Loosen up? I’ve inherited a business on the brink of financial disaster, I own an old house with drafts and a bad roof, and I’m a murder suspect. Why did Bernadette have to try on that stupid dress Irene Singer consigned?”

  “Eddie’s wife?”

  “You know Irene? Did you know her husband? Is it true Eddie was a gambler?”

  “Yeah, I heard he was getting in deep with his bookie.”

  “Bookie? In Lucky Cove?”

  Frankie shook his head as he drained the last of his beer. “Just outside of town. The guy’s a real peach. He operates out of the Thirsty Turtle.”

  “That dive is still open?” The bar was a place Kelly never went even though her friends tried several times to drag her there in high school because the bar staff didn’t card its clientele. Nothing but trouble happened there, so Kelly kept her distance from the establishment. “Why am I not surprised a bookie works out of the bar? It’s almost cliché.”

  “Leo Manning is a cliché. Want a refill?” Frankie pointed to Kelly’s glass.

  She shook her head. One beer was enough for her since she had to drive back to the boutique.

  Frankie stood and dashed into the restaurant and returned a moment later with a full glass for himself. “One of Leo’s ex-girlfriends waitressed here one summer.” Frankie sat and took a sip of his beer. “Nice girl with fake boobs and no work ethic. She was the kind of girl who is used to others taking care of her.”

  Frankie’s description sounded vaguely familiar to someone they both knew, but she didn’t say Summer’s name. Frankie’s relationship with his stepmother was amiable, but he preferred not to discuss her if he didn’t have to.

  “She said Leo took good care of her until he found another girl to take care of,” Frankie continued.

  “Huh. Eddie owed him a lot of money?” Kelly recalled the conversation with Regina. She’d said pretty much what Frankie had said. It appeared Eddie was up to his eyeballs in debt.

  Frankie shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. The guy’s dead. Wait. You’re not thinking of going to see Leo? No. Bad idea. He’s not a nice guy. I’ve heard he’s hurt people.”

  “Relax. Don’t worry so much. I’m just asking questions. I hate to eat and run, but I have to get back to the boutique.” She stood and grabbed her tote bag. “Lunch was delicious.”

  Frank rose quickly to his feet and walked around the table. “Are we good?” He held open his arms for a hug.

  “Of course we are.” She stepped into Frankie’s hug. “You cooked me my favorite meal.”

  Frankie let out a breath. “It worked.”

  Kelly pulled back and slapped him on the chest. “Yes, it did. Just don’t attend any more séances in my boutique.”

  “Promise.”

  “You better.” She turned to head back to her vehicle. Glad she and Frankie had cleared the air, Kelly now could focus on what was important—clearing her name and saving the boutique.

  Chapter 13

  Kelly had every intention of returning to the boutique when she drove away from Frankie’s restaurant and every intention of keeping her long-standing tradition of staying away from the Thirsty Turtle. So why on earth was she parked in the gravel driveway of the bar?

  The niggling thought that the Singers were somehow involved in the mess of Maxine’s murder poked at her. What if Bernadette’s vision was real and Irene did kill her husband and, fearing discovery, Irene intended to kill Bernadette but made a mistake and killed Maxine? Yeah, there were a lot of “ifs,” but her theory was plausible.

  As plausible as her theory was, there was no evidence to support it, and finding any at the seedy bar was unlikely. She looked around the parking lot. A handful of rusty cars and battered pickup trucks were parked haphazardly. Lunchtime looked like it drew a crowd. She gathered up her nerve and pulled the keys out of the ignition and made her way to the front door of the bar.

  The Thirsty Turtle was a box of a building painted three colors—red, white, and blue. Very patriotic. Chipped and dirty, the paint had seen better days. A sign with the bar’s name hung over one of the two front windows, and a glass door in need of a washing was the entrance to the dimly lit establishment.

  Kelly stepped over the blackened threshold, and her nose was assaulted by a strong whiff of cigarette smoke and beer and a hint of sea air. Her eyes watered as she adjusted to the uncomfortable odor. The place needed fresh air, maybe a window should be opened. Surveying the bar, it didn’t look like anyone else had a problem with the stale air.

  About five men, all sporting scruffy beards and beer bellies, were seated at the bar chowing down on hamburgers and fries and guzzling beer, while a few tables had other diners eating the same meal. Huh. Not much of a menu.

  No one seemed to notice her. Maybe she looked like she belonged. Somehow, she’d had the foresight to dress appropriately for her trip to the bar. Yeah, animal-print leggings and a leather jacket were dive bar chic.

  “You lost, hon?” a crusty old bald bartender asked as he wiped down the bar with a towel.

  Okay, she didn’t look like she belonged in the dive bar. No doubt, the black cashmere sweater was too much. It was too late to turn and leave. Besides, she’d passed by worse on her way from the subway to her apartment in the city. She could handle a bartender in the suburbs of Long Island and the lunchtime crowd, who turned their gazes in her direction.

  With all eyes on her, she squared her shoulders and sauntered to the bar. “No. I’m not lost. I’m looking for someone.” She tossed back her head, her hair skimming over her shoulders, and stood confidently.

  The crusty old bartender smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealed a snake tattoo along his forearm. “Who might that be?”

  “Leo. Leo Manning.”

  The crusty old bartender chuckled as he threw down the towel. “What’s a nice girl like you doing looking for Leo?”

  “Is he here?”

  “No. Wanna leave him a message? Let me get my notepad and pen.” He paused then grinned and snapped his stubby fingers. “Sorry. I ain’t got any of that.”

  A low rumble of laughter drifted in the air. Apparently, the lunch crowd found the crusty old bartender amusing. Somehow his humor was lost on Kelly.

  “Thanks anyway.” She would have felt more disappointment if she hadn’t realized the likelihood of the bookie being at the bar at the moment she showed up was unreasonable. Maybe it was for the best. What did she really think Leo would tell her about Eddie Singer? She turned and started to walk away from the bar. She couldn’t get out of that place quick enough.

  “Hey, wait, honey.”

  Honey. She hated being call
ed honey, especially by men like the bartender. She looked over her shoulder. “What?”

  “If you’re looking for work, I need a waitress. With your girls, you could earn some good tips. You’d just need to show more of them.” He grinned again, and Kelly shuddered. She needed a shower.

  “No thanks.” She continued to the door. If something didn’t turn around at the boutique, she might have to consider the offer. She pushed the door open and stepped outside.

  A gust of cold air blasted Kelly, and she wished she’d opted for a heavier coat. The first part of the day had been unseasonably warm, and she hadn’t expected to make a detour on the way back to the boutique from lunch. As she reached her vehicle, she aimed the key fob and unlocked the driver’s side door. As she got closer to the SUV, she noticed a flat tire. Just what she didn’t need, and of all the places to get stranded.

  Before she could think about who she was going to call for assistance—hopefully Pepper had a roadside service plan—her cell phone rang. She pulled the phone out of her jacket pocket and saw Ariel’s name. She swiped the phone on.

  “You won’t believe what just happened.”

  “Same here,” Ariel said. “Well, nothing really happened. I heard from a source that Marco Lemoyne was last seen in Philadelphia a week ago. My guess is he’s working his way to New York. He may even be in Lucky Cove.”

  “Source? You have a source?”

  Ariel giggled. “You betcha. I’m headed out to try and interview DJ Brown aka Evan Fletcher.”

  “I doubt he’ll talk to you.” Kelly walked around the front of her vehicle and saw another flat tire. “What the…?” One flat tire was understandable. Two flat tires was sabotage. Her pulse quickened, and she straightened up to look around, but she didn’t see anyone. Though, how dumb would the vandal be if he stood out in the open admiring his work?

  “Kelly, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll call you back. I have to call for roadside service.” She disconnected the call and scrolled through her contacts to get Pepper’s number. She tapped on Pepper’s name and waited for the call to be put through. “Come on, come on, answer the phone.”

  “You’ve reached the phone of Pepper Donovan. Leave a message.”

  “Ugh. Fine. Pepper call me ASAP. I have two flat tires.” Kelly disconnected the call and decided to go through the glove compartment. Maybe the insurance card had a service phone number. After she yanked open the passenger side door, she heard someone approach. She looked over her shoulder. A woman about her age was walking toward her with a cup in one hand and waving the other.

  “You got some trouble?” the woman asked.

  Kelly pulled herself out of the car. “I do. Flat tires.”

  “I saw you out the window and suspected something was wrong. It’s getting cold so I brought you coffee.” She handed the mug to Kelly. “I’m Breena, and I waitress in there.” She nodded in the direction of the bar.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Kelly Quinn.” Kelly took a drink of the coffee. “Not bad. Nice robust flavor.”

  “Thanks. I brewed it myself. It’s about the only thing in there that tastes good and is full strength. Cody waters down all the drinks.”

  Somehow, Kelly wasn’t shocked by the information. “I appreciate this. It’s getting colder.”

  “Tell me about it.” Breena started to button her denim jacket but struggled with the one at her ample bustline. “Do you have someone to call? Two tires? Oh, man. You must have ticked someone off.”

  Breena was on the same thought train as Kelly. Now she just had to figure out who wanted to enact sabotage and why. While Breena shook her head, staring at the flat tires, Kelly’s mind was working to place the waitress. She was very familiar. Then it hit her.

  “Sabrina? Sabrina Collins?” Kelly had finally placed the petite, busty woman. “We were in the same French class.”

  Breena fixed her stare on Kelly, and then her face lit up. “Oui.” She giggled. “Kelly! Great to see you again. Oh, sorry about the circumstances.” She hugged Kelly, jostling the coffee. “I go by Breena now. B-R-E-E-N-A. That was my stage name.”

  “Stage name?”

  Breena’s head bobbed up and down, and her wavy brunette hair bounced. “I headed for Broadway after high school. Remember? I was in drama club. I got some roles and a few commercials, but I eventually decided to come back home.”

  “To waitress here?” Kelly immediately regretted the slight judgment in her question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. Hey, I got fired from my dream job a few months ago and moved back here to take over my grandmother’s consignment shop.”

  “No worries. I’m working here until I graduate college. Why are you here?”

  “I’m looking for Leo Manning. Do you know him?”

  Breena gave Kelly a dark look. “Sweetie, you don’t want to meet Leo unless you want to place a bet or want to date him. He’s not very nice.”

  “Have you ever dated him?”

  Breena held up her hands. “Nooo. And I won’t. I told you, he’s not very nice. Besides, I’m juggling working here, school, and my daughter. It’s tough.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “Hey! Get your pretty little butt back in here! You’re on the clock!” the crusty old bartender yelled from the open front door and then retreated back into the building.

  Breena winced. “I better get inside. Look, you should stay away from Leo. But if you really need to see him, he comes in here weekly to do business.” She used air quotes when she said “business.”

  “Did you by chance know an Eddie Singer?”

  Breena started back to the bar. “Leo had a regular named Eddie. The guy was in deep to Leo. He was desperate. He stopped coming around.” Before she entered the bar, she turned back and called out, “I’ll stop by the shop sometime.” Then she disappeared inside.

  Kelly’s phone buzzed, and the caller ID said it was Pepper. Thank goodness. “Hey, I need help.” She filled Pepper in on the recent events and did her best to avoid explaining why she was at the Thirsty Turtle.

  * * * *

  “I’m almost back at the boutique,” Kelly said after she heaved out a deep breath. The closer she got to the boutique, the more anxious she became because she was going to be greeted by the Pepper glare.

  “I can’t believe you actually went there.” Liv’s voice was filled with disbelief even after a ten-minute conversation.

  Kelly had called Liv right after the roadside assistance guy left the bar’s parking lot. When he arrived, he was curious what a nice girl like Kelly was doing at the Thirsty Turtle. She considered telling him the truth—she was looking for a bookie—but it required too much of an explanation and it was none of his business. So, she opted for a noncommittal shrug and shifted his attention back to the reason he was there—the two flat tires. He took the hint and got to work and, in under an hour, Kelly was driving out of the parking lot of the dive bar and heading home.

  Home to the Pepper glare. On second thought, maybe she should have tried her explanation for being at the bar on roadside assistance guy for practice.

  “My mind is blown Sabrina works there.”

  “She goes by Breena these days,” Kelly corrected.

  “Whatever she goes by, the Thirsty Turtle isn’t a nice place to work. But I guess she has to do what she has to do.”

  “Not all of us have a family business to rely on.”

  “Yeah, I know. Still, it never had a good reputation. What made you think Leo would even talk to you if he was there? And if he did talk to you, what makes you think he’d say anything about Eddie Singer?”

  “What’s with the third degree?” The light changed, and Kelly pressed her foot on the gas pedal and steered her vehicle through the intersection. Her boutique came into view. Home sweet home. The first thing she wanted to do was to take a shower and wash
the stench of the Thirsty Turtle off of her, but she was certain Pepper would want to have a talk. Kelly also had to figure out a way to pay Pepper back for the new tires.

  Liv laughed. “Just prepping you for Pepper. You know she’s going to be all over you.”

  “I guess she has every right to be.” Kelly wasn’t sure if the flat tires were directed at her personally or if it was just a random act of vandalism. Whatever the reason, paying for the new tires was going to put a serious dent in her dwindling savings account. If she’d gone right back to the boutique, the tires probably wouldn’t have been damaged. Sleuthing was turning out to be an expensive proposition.

  The minivan ahead of her stopped, and its left blinker went on. It was going to make a left turn across Main Street, just like Kelly needed to do. Behind the row of shops on either side of the main thoroughfare were communal parking lots with a few reserved spots for shop owners and employees. Kelly drummed her fingers on the steering wheel while she waited. There was a long line of oncoming traffic approaching. It was going to be awhile before either she or the minivan moved.

  “Don’t you have more important things to do than track down Eddie Singer’s former bookie?” Liv asked.

  “I suppose I do, but I’m not convinced Detective Wolman won’t try to pin the murder on me. I hear she gets tunnel vision.”

  Liv scoffed. “Who told you that?”

  “Ariel.”

  “Ariel Barnes? When did you see her?”

  “She came into the shop and we talked. Then I went to her house for dinner.”

  “What? How awesome! Is everything good between you two?”

  Kelly shrugged. “I guess…” Kelly’s gaze surveyed Main Street. The sun was setting and, in a few minutes, there’d be significant glare, so she was glad to be home now. She was still getting used to driving again. Her skills were a little rusty. In the city she either got a taxi, scheduled an Uber, or hopped on a subway. People were coming and going from shops, and one woman caught her attention coming out of the boutique. Bernadette? Good grief. What did she want now? “Oh boy.”