Whiskey and Tonic, page 8
Without further comment, I bolted for the john.
It turned out to be a very nice camisole. Even silkier than the first one and a perfect fit. Just for the hell of it, I struck a sexy pose in the restroom mirror. Nobody else was using the john. Hmm. I didn’t look half bad for a tomboy all grown up. My dark curls were forever out of control, but I had a good body—if you liked women tall, lean and strong with modest-size perky breasts.
The restroom door flew open and I dove for the paper towel dispenser. The last thing I needed was a rumor that Whiskey Mattimoe vamped in public lavatories.
“Hey! Nice top!” Jenx boomed. “Shows off your tits. Small but sweet.”
“My tits aren’t small! I wear a C-cup!”
“Ooo. She wears a C-cup!” Jenx mimicked from inside her stall. “I don’t even flirt with women who wear less than a double D!”
“You don’t flirt, period. You and Hen are practically married.”
“Not in this state."
“I was on my way over to see you,” I said. “I hit the jackpot last night--!”
Jenx flushed, then flung open her stall door.
“Whatever you did last night, you did on your own! I don’t know or want to know what you’re talking about!”
I waited a beat before saying, “Jenx, there’s nobody else in here."
She adjusted her holster. “Okay then. Just come on over to the station when you’re ready. I’m picking up a couple of Peg’s spinach pies to keep me going till supper.”
After she’d washed her hands and left, I tried out a few more sexy poses in my new camisole. Tossing my head and pursing my lips enhanced the overall effect. I thought the camisole even made the bump on my forehead look smaller. How could Professor Nash Grant possibly resist?
The door opened again, and my stepdaughter lumbered in. Avery Mattimoe took one look at me and exploded in laughter. To appreciate that, you need to know this: Avery has no sense of humor. Plus, she hates me.
“Is Jeb due back in town, or are you just horny?” she said.
I opted not to reply. Instead, I concentrated on pulling a whole bunch of paper towels out of the dispenser, which wasn’t easy since the damn thing was motion-activated. That meant I had to wave my hands frantically to avoid answering.
“You look like a spaz,” she said finally. “And FYI: black is not your color.”
That got me going. “For your information, Avery, black looks good on everybody.”
“Except you." She stomped into her stall, slammed the door, and proceeded to pee like a horse.
I stormed out, leaving my latte by the sink.
“Nice,” Peg said, acknowledging my camisole. But then she was always polite. I wanted the truth.
“Is black my color?” I demanded.
“Black is the absence of color,” said New Age guru Noonan Starr, who had taken a seat at the juice bar. “Or, if you will, the negation of purity.”
“Here, here!” Odette said.
Noonan added, “Whiskey, you have enough light on the inside to wear black on the outside. Don’t let self-doubt stifle your life force."
“How about Avery? Can she stifle it?"
“Only if you give her that power. And why would you?”
I was troubled. Avery was gaining self-confidence. I hated to admit it, but she was verging on . . . looking good. Granted, she was still overweight and prone to galumph like a water buffalo, but she’d lost twenty pounds. Almost as tall as I, Avery was wider through the hips and shoulders and thus able to carry more weight.
She wasn’t likely to turn into a real-life Cinderella, however. Avery spoke shrilly and cried snottily. Just not as often anymore. And she retained her annoying nervous tic: when stressed, she stuck her tongue out, a reflex her late father had found charming but which made me want to hurt her.
We all studied Avery as she emerged, smiling, from the bathroom.
In recent weeks, her skin had cleared up, and her nearly colorless blonde hair had taken on a new luster and bounce. Running three times a week with the Coast Guard nanny was making an amazing difference. I silently vowed to start running, too.
Peg murmured, “Doesn’t Avery look wonderful now that she’s having sex?”
Chapter thirteen
Just when I thought the situation couldn’t get more painful, a new customer entered the Goh Cup: Nash Grant. At least I was wearing my black camisole.
Too little, too late. The professor only had eyes for Avery. Right in front of everybody, she rushed into his arms, and he gave her a big wet kiss. I wished I hadn’t left my coffee mug in the john; it would have made a handy barf bag.
I was tempted to loudly ask the happy couple who was watching their twins—just to shake the romantic moment—but I knew the answer. Deely had left a message at Vestige saying she was with little Leah and Leo at Nash’s. I tried to be grateful that Avery and Nash weren’t sticking their tongues down each other’s throats at my house.
Peg gave them the best table in the house—the one in her front window—so that passersby on Main Street would see how blissful they were. After serving them, she returned to our table, where I sat in numbed silence.
“Whiskey, dear,” Peg said kindly. “Could I interest you in a cup of my Spring Tonic? On the house, of course."
“You should try it,” Noonan advised, sliding into the seat next to me. “It’s one hundred percent herbal.”
“Does it taste good?” I asked.
“Didn’t you hear her? It’s herbal!” Odette said.
“It’s based on a traditional Native American cure,” Noonan offered, “used for centuries to make women more confident and attractive.”
“Bring it on,” I said.
Odette regarded me doubtfully. “If that camisole isn’t working, you may be beyond help.”
Changing the subject—sort of—I asked the three women if they knew Dock Paladino.
“Personally, or by reputation?” Odette said.
“Either."
“Let me warn you, Whiskey: he’s way out of your league."
“That good, huh? Well, it would explain the screaming.”
I smiled and refused to elaborate. After all, I had promised the police I’d keep my undercover activities under wraps.
Peg seemed stunned. Odette eyed me suspiciously. Noonan studied the floor. There was a moment of strained silence.
Then Noonan gushed, “He’s talking about me, isn’t he? And he swore on his mother’s grave that he never would! What we did together was confidential: two consenting adults in a mood to experiment. It was never meant to be shared with another human being!"
I was speechless. So were Odette and Peg. As embarrassed as I was for Noonan, I was relieved not to be the most pathetic person in the room. For a change. Peg brought two Spring Tonics. Noonan chugged hers and left.
I turned to Peg and Odette. “Noonan with Dock Paladino? I thought he only did girls under twenty!"
Odette said, “He does anybody he wants. But don’t get your hopes up. . . . ”
To me, Peg said, “Lately he’s been with Tammi LePadanni.”
“You mean Brandi,” I corrected her.
Peg and Odette shook their heads.
“Dock and Tammi came in here twice last week,” Peg said. “Both times, they stuck two straws in a jumbo iced cappuccino and sucked it down like some kind of foreplay." A wishful expression transformed her lined face. “It was . . . erotic.”
I felt sick. And not just because everyone but me appeared to be having amazing sex. Was it possible that Tammi and not Brandi had been at Dock’s apartment last night? That threw my whole theory, such as it was, in the dumpster. Could it have been Tammi, not Brandi, who dashed out of Providence, turning the lights out behind her? Maybe Mom’s little dalliance was why Brandi threw a tantrum. But why didn’t Dr. LePadanni seem to care?
In my head I replayed the orgasmic screams. Hardly the voice of a forty-something-year-old. Then again, maybe Tammi shrieked like a little girl. Maybe, in the throes of passion, I didn’t sound like myself either. I couldn’t remember back that far. Tammi did have a fairly high voice, though, now that I thought about it.
I stirred my Spring Tonic, wishing it was a different color. Purplish brown beverages don’t inspire confidence. Plus, this one smelled like rotten mushrooms.
“What’s in this?”
Peg shrugged. “I bought it online from a natural foods wholesaler.”
“Without reading the ingredients?”
“Whiskey, this is a tourist town. People will drink anything that sounds good.”
Cautiously, I tasted it. Not half as awful as it smelled. Oddly, Peg’s Spring Tonic tasted like Scotch whiskey Lite with a twist of lime and . . . something else.
“I bet Jeb would like this,” I remarked, thinking of my first husband’s fondness for the finest single malts. “It has that ‘cool burn’ he enjoys but can rarely afford."
“Jeb doesn’t need a tonic,” Peg observed. “He’s content all the time."
True enough. My ex required very little, which was a good thing since he could afford almost nothing. Just an old Nissan Van Wagon, a few musical instruments and some grunge clothes. The sexy smile was his birthright. Jeb looked like James Taylor used to.
My eyes slid across the room to Nash Grant. He was holding Avery’s hand and peering at her lovingly.
“Let it go,” Odette hissed. “Your best hope—besides Jeb—is that you meet someone new and either the tonic or the camisole kicks in soon!”
Across the street, a few minutes later, Jenx made a face at me. “Have you been drinking?”
“Just an herbal Spring Tonic,” I said. “Smells like Scotch, doesn’t it?”
“No. Smells like lots of Scotch. I wouldn’t piss off any cops if I was you."
“I’ll try not to." When I sat down across from Jenx’s desk, she motioned for me to move back. Way back.
“Woo! What’s that stuff supposed to do for you?” she asked, waving the fumes of my breath away.
“Make me more confident and attractive.”
“To who? Winos?" Jenx left her desk to adjust the building’s ventilation system. I reminded myself that the chief was a woman, so her reaction didn’t count. Then I remembered that she was a lesbian wired to like women, and I got worried. Especially when she returned with a surgical mask.
“Do me a favor and put that on,” she said, tossing it to me. “You’re making my eyes water."
“Odette and Peg didn’t complain,” I muttered.
“Peg sold you the drink, and Odette was glad to get rid of you."
The mask in place, I recounted what I’d seen last night when visiting Providence and the Magnet Springs Marina. By now, I’d learned enough about police work to save my theories until after I’d laid out all the facts.
To my disappointment, Jenx didn’t bother to write down any of the fascinating details. She didn’t bother to comment, either. Finally, I said, “Would you like me to write up a report?”
“And have an official written record of your illicit activities?!”
I took that as a no.
“Well, what do you want from me?" Even though my voice was heavily muffled, the petulance came through.
“I want you to forget about this case,” Jenx said. “What you’ve seen so far means nothing.”
“Nothing?! Dock Paladino ran Crystal off the road, and either Brandi or Tammi put him up to it! They’re all screwing, you know!”
“I thought Brandi and Dock were screwing.”
“Tammi, too. Peg has proof!”
“Peg’s seen Tammi in bed with Dock?”
“No. But Peg’s seen Tammi and Dock making out at the Goh Cup. They got erotic with cappuccino. And something’s not right at Providence. Since when can’t an orthopod pay his electric bill? Plus, we know Tammi put a curse on Faye! By the way, are Faye’s parents back?”
Jenx cleared her throat. I assumed she was trying to tell me that I still stank—
until she said, “That’s something I need to talk to you about. Faye’s parents couldn’t get a flight home, after all. Major labor strike in Venezuela. No planes in or out of the country. We don’t know for how long.”
I couldn’t imagine what that had to do with me. And then I got it. “Oh no . . . I am not a child-care provider! We’ve been through this!”
Indeed we had. Despite my protestations, I seemed to attract other people’s children the way Jenx’s truck attracted oncoming vehicles. In addition to Avery and her twins and Abra and her pups, I’d ended up watching Chester while Cassina was on her World Tour. No sooner had I offloaded those responsibilities than I was about to be saddled with a cursed teen-ager.
“Faye’s supposed to die on Wednesday!” I reminded Jenx. “I really don’t have time for that."
Chapter fourteen
Jenx didn’t give a damn how busy I was.
“You’ll take care of Faye Raffle,” she said simply and changed the subject. “Did Deely tell you what they brought in last night?”
“My dog? Or is that too much to hope for?"
“Way too much. But Mooney and Prince Harry retrieved some . . . souvenirs.”
“Yeah?" I knew enough about trackers to be wary. “You mean like scat?”
“Not like scat. Real scat. Abra’s for sure. Doctor David verified it."
“Nice. And Prince Harry helped find it?”
“Carried it home in his own little mouth. Deely was right. That pup’s tuned in to things about his mama no one else can appreciate.”
“Least of all me. So where was her scat last seen?"
“On the north side of town. Her trail crisscrossed itself. Like she was trying to confuse us.”
“Trying?"
If Jenx had made any progress solving Crystal Crossman’s murder or removing the curse on Faye’s head, she wouldn’t talk about it. Five minutes later, I was en route to Coastal Medical Center for the third time in two days. My mission: to pick up Magnet Springs’ very own Miss Blossom, and bring her back to Vestige. Hopefully not to die.
I wouldn’t have admitted as much to Faye, but her prospects looked dim now that I was assigned to protect her. Not only did I have zero defensive training, but black magic scared me sleepless. Whenever I watched a Harry Potter movie, I had nightmares for a week. Deely might have been able to help us, but she was spending more and more time at Nash Grant’s. I wasn’t sure how often we could count on her for anti-curse duty.
When I walked into Faye’s hospital room, she was dressed and ready to go. She was also ghost-white and trembling.
“Did they show you the bill?” I said.
“No. They delivered this." She held out a white cardboard box about five inches by six and maybe three inches high—the kind some florists use for boutonnieres. I was very sure I didn’t want to see what was inside. Faye’s haunted eyes told me I had no choice.
“One question,” I said. “Will it make me faint?"
“Maybe. I don’t know how weak you are."
I steeled myself and cautiously lifted the lid.
Miraculously, I didn’t faint. The contents of the box were gross but not overwhelming. On a bed of crumpled tissue paper lay a finely woven antique bracelet and matching earrings. Each featured dangling acorns with gold caps. Gaudy and out of fashion. But that wasn’t the problem. It was what the loops and acorns were made of that made them revolting.
“Human hair,” Faye said in case I hadn’t got it.
“Anyone’s we know?"
“The first Miss Blossom. Here." Her hand shaking, she passed me a folded note written on aged ivory-colored vellum. The creases of the page were worn almost to the point of tearing.
In the spidery handwriting of a distant era, I read the following:
Here lies the hair of my beloved daughter, Winifred Margaret Schuyler, who was tragically slain as she lay in her bed on the night of July 30, 1848. I washed away the blood with my own loving hands and trimmed her tresses for this memento mori. Beauty ends. Vengeance is never satisfied.
Below Mrs. Schuyler’s message, someone with a red Sharpie had added
ALL FORMER MISS BLOSSOMS MUST DIE.
Forcing a smile, I handed the note back to Faye. “Now, now. You’ve got a whole year before you need to worry about that.”
She said, “I’ve got until Wednesday.”
It was going to be a long drive back to Vestige.
“Who sent this to you?”
Faye had no idea. Obviously it was someone with access, legal or otherwise, to the Schuylers’ heirloom jewelry, which was probably valuable though hideous. A nurse’s aide had brought Faye the box after it was left at the unit desk with an envelope addressed to Miss Blossom.
“That note was in the envelope. Along with this." Faye produced a thick strand of blond hair about an inch wide and three inches long.
My heart skipped a beat. I would have known that hair anywhere. I should; it covered most of my furniture.
“Abra,” I gasped.
“Could Abra send a package?” Faye asked.
“Maybe, but that’s not what I mean. Whoever sent this has Abra! Or did have her. She’s very hard to contain."
“Why would they send this to me?”
“To creep you out, obviously! It worked, didn’t it?"
If anything, Faye looked paler now than she had in the ambulance yesterday. Somebody had upped the curse just as I became temporary guardian. My rotten luck.
“Please call Jenx,” Faye said.
I intended to as soon as we got outside. Fear of phone confiscation was the only reason I wasn’t already dialing. I hustled Faye out of CMC as fast as her jittery limbs would carry her, the box of spooky jewelry tucked under my arm. Once we were in my car, I got Jenx on the line and brought her up to date.
“You’re sure the stuff’s authentic?” she asked.
“It’s human hair, all right. There’s nothing quite like it.”
“But you can’t tell if it’s Mar Schuyler’s hair. Or if the note’s really from Mrs. Schuyler."
“Look!” Faye had reopened the box and was holding the bracelet as if it were a small but deadly sleeping snake. “There’s engraving on the back of the clasp!"
