Poison and Party Hats, page 2
I pushed the chair toward him as a diversion and lunged for the only escape. On the other side of the door, I did a quick spin to pull it closed, and then held it shut so he was trapped. For a moment, I leaned against the door, out of breath and reeling.
New mom?! Sally didn’t know me, but there was a better chance Shongoloo would have a blizzard for the Fourth of July.
“Problem?” Darla asked.
“Where do I even start?” I huffed while Ollie scratched at the closed door in between barks. “Is there something we can do about him? A cage or a muzzle or something?”
Darla’s default expression looked to be narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She didn’t seem too keen to communicate verbally either. Instead, she brushed past me and opened the office door, bending down to fuss over the little devil.
“Come here, buddy,” she said in a gentle, coaxing tone. “You’re all right. It’s been a tough day, hasn’t it?”
“It hasn’t been the best day,” I agreed. Darla shot me a sharp look, and I realized she was talking to the dog.
And Ollie ate it up. Darla scooped him up into her arms and took him over to one of the grooming tables. “Just lie down and relax,” she told him, moving her hands along the sides of his body, up to the tips of his ears and back down. “A good puppy massage always does the trick, hm, Ollie?”
A massage? Seriously? This woman couldn’t say one polite word to me, but she could stand there and pamper the dog like a prince?
“You’ll be needing a tour, I guess,” she said, not looking up from her hands.
“Me?”
She lifted her gaze, then shook her head. “It’s all yours now, isn’t it?”
The reminder left a sour taste in my mouth. “That’s what the lawyer said, but I don’t get it. Why would Aunt Eliza leave it all to me? My cousins weren’t wrong. I’m not really ... an animal person,” I said, wrinkling my nose. The wet dog smell wasn’t as strong as before, but it would never truly leave. It had to be soaked into the walls at this point.
“Beats me,” Darla said, helping Ollie down from the table. He immediately set off in search of something, his nose to the ground. “Eliza never talked to me about what was in her will. I only knew she had one. I’m surprised none of her boyfriends made the list, though.”
“Boyfriends? Plural?” In the occasional chats we had to catch up or talk about new developments in our lives, Aunt Eliza had never mentioned being with anyone, let alone multiple someones.
“She had quite a few,” Darla said without any judgment. “I thought maybe Herbert or...Well, I guess they weren’t as close as I thought. Anyway, come on. I’ll show you around.”
The Dip & Clip wasn’t a big enough shop to warrant a full tour, but that didn’t stop Darla from pointing out a million different minor things that I didn’t care about. I was still hung up on Aunt Eliza having multiple suitors. She’d always been single as far as I knew. Of course, single and celibate were two very different things. It shouldn’t be surprising that such a vibrant and energetic woman had lovers, but it wasn’t something I wanted to think about too much.
I forced myself to pay attention to Darla’s presentation, though why she was explaining the different grooming stations to me, I couldn’t say. I had no intention of grooming any animals. Hell, I had no intention of touching any animals. If I could help it, there would be plenty of distance between me and any flea-bitten mongrel.
There was plenty of room to work with in the back of the shop; not huge by any means, but definitely spacious compared to the tiny NYC floor plans I was used to. That didn’t help the smell, though. A cursory glance was enough to tell me that the walls and baseboards could use a good cleaning, splattered with a thousand baths’ worth of soapy water. Even the ceiling looked dingy.
“Don’t even—Muffin, no!”
I turned toward the other employee just in time to see her throw her hands up. Darla sidestepped out of the way, but I was too slow. Muffin, a monstrous, shaggy beast dripping with soapy water, shook hard enough to splash every corner of the shop. And I got the brunt of the assault. Time stopped.
This isn’t happening, I told myself. It couldn’t be. This was my nightmare coming to life, and any moment I was going to wake up back in the city, completely dry, far away from wet dogs and grumpy tour guides.
Except when I opened my eyes, I was still in Shongoloo. Still dripping from head to toe. “This blouse is dry clean only,” was the first thing out of my mouth.
Darla’s furrowed brow finally softened, concern wrinkling her forehead instead. “Do you know what you’re gonna do with the shop?”
“What do you mean? I’m going to sell it. As soon as possible, preferably.”
Darla opened her mouth, but whatever response she had was cut off by Ollie’s frantic barking. She peeked over my shoulder through the door to the front and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Lord, not Jenny Mae,” she muttered under her breath.
“Jenny Mae?”
Darla said nothing, stooping down behind the front counter to calm Ollie.
I kept my distance from them and greeted the newcomer with a smile. She was older than me, with crispy bleached-blonde hair that was teased to oblivion and clumpy mascara that had left black flakes clinging to the poorly concealed bags under her eyes. “Hi there!” I said over Ollie’s continued yapping.
“Are you the one in charge of this circus now?” Jenny Mae asked, her face twisted up like she just sucked on a lemon.
“I, uh—” I stammered, glancing to Darla. No wonder she rolled her eyes when she saw this woman come in. I couldn’t let one irritable customer throw me off-balance, though. I was better than that.
“I suppose I am,” I answered, standing up straighter. It was hard to feel authoritative while I smelled like dog shampoo and my blouse had turned see-through, but it was all about the attitude. If I believed I was in charge, so would everyone else.
“Good, then you can write me a check. I’m sick of getting the runaround.” Jenny Mae put her hands on her hips, turning up her nose to make sure I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“A check?” I asked with another look back to Darla. She had her hands full keeping Ollie from going full Cujo, so I was on my own.
“Compensation for the loss of my cat,” Jenny Mae said, acid dripping from her voice. “I brought my precious Pumpkin to this terrible place, and she died because of the negligence of this staff. You should be grateful I’m only asking for compensation instead of having this whole place shut down.”
“Good luck,” Darla sneered, standing up to glower at Jenny Mae across the counter. “Eliza only agreed to pay you because she felt bad and had a big heart. You can’t blame this shop for your cat dying two days later from something completely unrelated.”
“We had a deal,” Jenny Mae said. “I expect it to be honored.”
“You had a deal with Eliza, and she’s gone, or haven’t you heard?” Darla snapped back, stopping just short of name-calling.
“Be that as it may, it doesn’t excuse the debt. It changes nothing. I have a signed agreement, and I’m not afraid to sue if necessary.”
“That won’t be necessary at all,” I said, holding up a hand to stop the catfight before it could escalate any further. “There is a lawyer handling the estate. He’ll be making sure all of Eliza’s debts are paid, so I imagine he’ll be in touch soon.”
“You’d better hope so,” Jenny Mae said, wagging a finger at me. “You don’t want to see what happens when I’m crossed.”
I had no doubt she meant that to be threatening, but it took all my effort not to laugh in her face. It would take a lot more than that to intimidate me. I’d heard worse threats walking through subway stations. Once she left, Ollie calmed down, settling back onto his dog bed.
“That was interesting,” I said, looking to Darla.
She was back to her neutral pursed-lip expression but there were a few extra lines of worry creasing her forehead. “I know you probably can’t wait to get out of this town as quick as you can, but I think you might wanna stick around a little while.”
“Why in the world would I want to do that? I have a magazine to run back in New York.” And I’d rather have a root canal without anesthetic than stay here longer than I have to.
“That’s why it needs to be you,” Darla said, though it was clear she wasn’t happy about having to admit it. “You know about this stuff.”
“What stuff?” She couldn’t mean the grooming business.
Darla glanced over her shoulder through the door to the back, stepping closer like she was worried about being overheard by the only other person in this place. “I don’t think your aunt had a heart attack,” she said in a low whisper. “I think someone killed her.”
Chapter 3
“What makes you think anyone would want to kill Eliza?” I asked skeptically.
Darla shrugged, shaking her head. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to bet you’re the only person in this town who can figure it out.”
Finally, it was my turn for a pursed-lip scowl. Was that her attempt at a compliment, or was her trust in the local law enforcement that low? More likely it was flattery to get me to take the case—if there even was a case. That I wasn’t convinced of. Murders were my business; I’d made a name for myself writing true crime stories, so if there was anything unusual about Eliza’s death, my journalism senses would be tingling.
No tingles. And I hoped it would stay that way. I didn’t need more work. Was it so bad to hope that Aunt Eliza’s death was exactly as it appeared? Sudden and tragic, but completely mundane.
I had enough on my plate without an added mystery. Aunt Eliza had left me a whole buffet of crap to deal with, and I wanted to sell the shop and the house as soon as possible so I could get back to my life. Of course, once Darla planted the seed, it took root and started burrowing deep. Julian was waiting on a pitch for my next story—had one just fallen into my lap?
Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. No one wanted to kill Aunt Eliza. Darla was bored and trying to make some excitement for herself. I wasn’t going to let her drag me into it.
“I need to change,” I said without further comment on her theories. “I assume you don’t need me here for anything?” I grabbed my handbag and fanned my wet blouse away from my chest to keep it from sticking.
“Aren’t you taking Ollie?”
I cast a sideways glance to the dog, gritting my teeth. “I guess you should come with me,” I told him, moving closer.
Ollie jumped up with a quick bark and yipped at me.
I stumbled back, glaring. “Fine, I don’t mind going home without you.” I preferred it, in fact.
“Don’t worry,” Darla said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Ollie always finds his way home.”
“Sure,” I muttered. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I wasn’t interested in a lengthy discussion about the dog. Maybe I’d be lucky and he wouldn’t find his way home. That would sure save me a lot of trouble. Guilt gripped my stomach. Aunt Eliza loved the little monster. I could at least try to tolerate him. “I’ll see you later then, Ollie,” I said, leaving the shop.
Aunt Eliza’s house was on the same property as the Dip & Clip. A breezeway connected the two buildings, but thank goodness they each had their own front entrances. I pulled out the keys the lawyer gave me and found the right one on the third try. Once inside, I kicked off my shoes and wheeled my suitcase into the middle of the living room, taking it all in.
It was weird to be in Eliza’s house without her. It had been nearly a decade since I’d stepped foot into this place, but it didn’t look like anything had changed at all. Aunt Eliza had always had an eclectic sense of design, so there was no one prevailing style. Antique china cabinets full of delicate dinnerware shared the space with shaggy pink carpet from the seventies and a whole collection of novelty rubber ducks. There were framed records on the wall from her favorite rock bands, a crystal pineapple the size of my head, and little signs on the wall that said things like ‘I let the dogs out’ and ‘Peace, Love, and Wagging Tails.’ The place was full of color and personality and so much life.
I choked back a wave of emotion. How could she be gone?
On the same wall with the silly Dog Mom signs, Aunt Eliza had hung dozens of framed photos from her life. From her black and white graduation picture to one with three smiling young women in fashionable sixties skirt sets—my mom, Aunt Eliza, and Aunt Fran, before they had their falling out. Aunt Eliza didn’t have any other pictures with her sisters, but she had plenty with her nieces. We rarely spent time together, but Aunt Eliza had always made time for all three of us.
There was one with me as a gangly teenager in an oversized hoodie and jeans, Aunt Eliza with her arm around me, beaming at the camera to make up for my too-cool-to-smile attitude. She’d taken me on a road trip up to Gibsland for the new Bonnie and Clyde Museum when it opened. I’d always had an interest in writing about true crime, and it was Aunt Eliza who’d fostered and nurtured that interest and encouraged me to follow my passions.
My throat tightened, mouth going dry as burning regret washed through me, pushing tears up to my eyes. After our visit to that museum, I wrote a piece about the outlaw lovers and their last stand in Louisiana. That story got me into journalism school. It kicked off my whole career, and Aunt Eliza had been so happy for me.
I swallowed past the painful lump in my throat, unable to pull my gaze away from the wall of memories until it landed on a framed copy of the first article I ever got into print. Aunt Eliza was so proud, she said we’d have to celebrate the next time I visited. And I never did. I always meant to someday, but I’d gotten more and more responsibilities at the magazine, and life always seemed to have something else going on...
Now it was too late. I owed so much to the support and generosity of that woman, and I never got the chance to properly thank her for all of it.
You had chances, a mean voice in my head pointed out as tears welled up, spilling over. There were just more important things.
None of it seemed as important anymore. There was no rush of pride looking at my accomplishments on my aunt’s wall. Just sadness. For the first time since I got the news, it really hit me. Beyond the annoyance of being back in Shongoloo and past the bewilderment of Aunt Eliza leaving everything to me, there was total devastation waiting for me like a dark specter.
I sniffed, dabbing tears away as quickly as they fell. “Why?” I asked the picture of Eliza on the wall. “I wish you could tell me.” She couldn’t, though. I’d have to figure it out on my own. I hadn’t been a very good niece, so it couldn’t be that. There had to be some clues somewhere that would explain why she’d left it all to me.
A knock on the front door pulled me away from my thoughts with a start. I swiped away the tears that remained, then checked the entryway mirror to make sure my eyes weren’t puffy from crying. I peeked through the peephole, but it wasn’t someone I recognized. She looked to be somewhere between me and Aunt Eliza in age, with curly box-red hair and a gold-sequined fleur de lis on her shirt. I couldn’t see much more than that from the angle, but I could see a determination in her stance that said she wouldn’t leave if I just ignored her. With a deep breath, I steeled myself and opened the door.
“Hiiiii,” the woman on the other side said in that sad-cheerful tone people kept using around me, offering a smile that couldn’t decide if it was pitying or welcoming. “I’m Christie, from down the road?” she said, sticking out her hand while balancing a foil-topped casserole dish with the other one.
“You must be Lucy,” she continued, barreling forward without a response. “Eliza told me so much about you. I figured you could use a home-cooked meal after everything you’ve been through,” she added after pushing past me and into the kitchen, her bedazzled sweatpants sparkling with every step.
The tornado of a woman was already pulling out a plate and serving spoon. I couldn’t just stand around speechless.
“Were you ... close with Eliza?” I asked, following her through the house. She certainly seemed to know her way around.
“We’ve been neighbors for decades,” she said, shaking her head, the first cracks in her chipper mask starting to show. “It’s just so shocking. I know we didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but Eliza was a good woman with a gigantic heart. This town won’t be the same without her.” She slopped a spoonful of white gravy-covered mystery onto a plate and held it out to me.
Years of investigative reporting had taught me to pick up on the little things, even when I was overwhelmed by a rhinestoned hurricane. “What didn’t you see eye to eye on?” I asked casually, stalling for time while I searched the drawers for a fork I didn’t intend to use.
“Oh, normal neighborly things,” Christie said dismissively. “Eliza always did good work at the grooming salon, but her personal affairs were... Well, I just never thought it set the right example for the youth to see the parade of gentlemen coming and going like she was running a brothel.”
That got a questioning look from me as I reluctantly took the plate she held out. This casserole concoction was a far cry from the fresh, raw, plant-based diet that I generally stuck to. I couldn’t even identify any of the chunks.
I coughed back a gag. Chunks.
Where was the vacuum cleaner dog when I needed him?
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. I can’t believe she’s gone. I always told her to be careful, but that woman was a force to be reckoned with. No one could tell her to do anything she didn’t want to.” Christie just kept going and going. Often a sign of a guilty conscience. What was she feeling guilty about?
“Careful?” I asked, sitting down with the plate. The slop looked worse up close, and the smell wasn’t much better, but I didn’t want to offend her. “What did she need to be careful of?” Maybe wine could help me choke down the unidentifiable meal. Surely my aunt had a few bottles stashed away around here somewhere.
