Killer Eyeshadow and a Cold Espresso (A Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery) Read online

Fear filtered from my brain to my chest, squeezing it like a sponge. Had I been wrong about Katrina stopping the stalking? "Zac Taylor, where is my cousin?"

  "She's in jail, Cass." His statement rang out like a shot. "Gia's been arrested as George's accomplice in Jesse's murder."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A female guard with a blonde brush cut escorted Gia into the inmate visitation room. My cousin often looked rough before her morning shower, but after a night in lockup she was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was tangled, her smoky eyes were smudged, and her false eyelashes were unsticking. Even more jarring, her red-lace fingernails clashed with her orange jail jumpsuit.

  "Donatello told them about the flowers, Cass." Her voice was low and gravelly as though she'd already taken up smoking. "It was the evidence they needed to throw me in the joint."

  "He had no choice."

  "I know, I know, but you have to spring me from here. Or bake me a cake with a nail file, because that brute guard made me chip my pinky."

  Gia and I watched a lot of jailbreak movies, but apparently she hadn't been paying attention. "Zac is working on getting you an attorney, and we're waiting to see if the judge will grant bail."

  "How are we going to pay for any of that? And don't say the Ferrari, because it's the only thing getting me through the long days and nights here in the pen."

  She'd only been inside for twelve hours, but I didn't point that out. "I'm sure your dad and Aunt Carla will pitch in."

  "No way, rosé. We have to do this on our own. I'm already going to have to deal with the ladies in the network twisting their mustaches and saying 'I told you so.'"

  "Why would they say that?"

  "Because they always said my best chance at success was marriage." She lowered her chin and looked at me beneath wobbly lashes. "That, and my senior year I was voted Most Likely to Commit a Crime in the Name of Fashion."

  My high school in Texas didn't have that category, but her Italian-only school in New Jersey had a whole other set of standards. "I'll try to figure something out."

  "That makes me feel a little better." Gia gave a sob suspiciously similar to the practiced cries of the Italian women in our family. "It's bad enough that criminals are seeing me in this state." She gestured to her face. "If even one picture goes public, it could kill my career as a makeup artist."

  The biggest kill to her makeup career would be a murder conviction, but I didn't say that either.

  She straightened and flipped a tangle. "At least I look hot in orange."

  "It totally complements your hair." My attempt at support was shallow, but I had to raise her spirits.

  "You should see my cellmate." Her eyes went wide. "We're so lucky we grew up privileged."

  I envisioned a Katrina-sized criminal with a face tattoo and a neck scar.

  "She's an accountant, and I don't think she's ever had a proper blow out or pedicure. Her toe cuticles are so overgrown they're halfway up the nail beds."

  "We really ought to thank our parents," I said dryly.

  "Five more minutes, Miss Conti."

  The guard's warning was a reminder that the time to let Gia vent was over. "What have they told you about your arrest?"

  "Dick Marshall—"

  "Detective." I jerked a shoulder toward the brush cut.

  "Whatever." She gave an eye roll that knocked a false lash to the table. "He said there were traces of taxine in the cup I used to serve Jesse espresso, but Killer Katrina's cup was clean, naturally. Then he accused me of putting yew berry seeds in the coffee and taking them out after they'd steeped."

  And the seed the officer had found beneath the vanity was his proof.

  "All because the espresso Katrina made him was cold." Gia reattached the eyelash. "That muscled monster set me up, Cass. She would've known that Jesse was picky about his coffee temperature."

  "If what Amy said about taxine is true, then Jesse was poisoned earlier, like the victim in A Pocket Full of Rye."

  "Right? Because I never left that espresso cup from the time I pulled it from the cabinet until I brought it to Jesse."

  "Katrina must've put the yew seeds in the cup after he died, when we left the dressing room to get help."

  "You've got to find a way to prove that, because Dick Marshall's coming for you too. He was talking to some prosecutor guy right in front of me, and he said this was his chance to put us away."

  I recoiled. "What else did he say?"

  "That we've been associated with too many crimes to be innocent of all of them. He also said he wouldn't be surprised if we killed Vinnie ourselves to get the salon and the house."

  I jumped up, almost knocking over my chair. "That's the lowest thing we've ever been accused of."

  The guard approached the table. "Have a seat, Miss Conti. Or I'll escort you out."

  "Actually, I'm going." I patted the table because I wasn't allowed to pat my cousin. "Don't worry, G. The detective's words are the motivation I needed to prove our innocence."

  She leapt up with a double fist pump. "Sic 'im, cug."

  The guard grabbed her arms.

  "Hey, watch the nails, Brigitte Nielsen."

  "Back to the cell, Di Mitri."

  "This is brute brutality." Gia went limp. "I need your badge number."

  The guard dragged her out.

  I fumed and marched toward the exit. I'd had it with the shame and suspicion that had hung over Gia and me since we'd moved to Danger Cove. And I'd had it with my Uncle Vinnie's murder. I didn't know the specifics, but somehow I would end the police station visits and silence the town McCudgeons and Marshalls.

  "How's Gia?" Alex Jordan's voice pulled me from my head. She rose from her seat in the lobby.

  "Nearing a beauty breakdown."

  "Fancy Pants isn't faring so well in a jumpsuit either."

  I appreciated the humor. We both needed it even though neither of us could laugh. "We've got to get them out."

  "I'm working on it. I called Martin VanSant, an attorney friend of George's, and he flew in last night from California. He's meeting with Detective Marshall now, and he convinced Gerald Dunham, a colleague from Seattle, to represent Gia. And the best part is, he and Martin are among the top criminal defense attorneys in the country."

  My hopes roller-coastered. "Then I can't afford the guy."

  She tucked a lock behind her ear. "George did Martin a huge favor years ago, so this is all pro bono."

  "Are you serious?" I sat beside her. "How can I repay you? Or VanSant and Dunham?"

  Her lips flatlined. "By helping us thwart Frank Wolfe, the prosecutor Big Ron and I went to high school with."

  The name was familiar. "I'm in. But is he the one who tried to prosecute George over that dead guy in the bathtub?"

  "Yes, and this is his second shot at a conviction. He was prom king and a star football player back in the day, and the guy will do anything to win."

  Frank must've been the prosecutor Gia overheard Detective Marshall talking to. Given the detective's animosity for Gia and me, and Frank's for George, things didn't look promising for either of them.

  "If we don't stop this case from going to trial, George and Gia will get life."

  My gut slammed shut like a prison cell door—for them and for me. Because I'd probably get life too.

  * * *

  Inhale for five. Hold for two. Exhale for five. I followed the panic-attack breathing instructions as I drove home from the police department. Fletcher Way was up ahead, and I wanted to go inside and hide beneath my covers.

  "See?" I spoke to myself in the rearview mirror to boost my shaky confidence. "You made it home just fine. So you can make it through this crisis."

  I hooked a right and hit the brakes.

  The Gold Rush History Tours bus blocked my street.

  Anxiety sped through my body at one hundred miles per hour. I couldn't deal with any more stress, which meant I definitely couldn't deal with Harriet McCudgeon.

  I rolled down my window, and her p
udgy mug appeared from nowhere. I let out a scream.

  "Quit with the theatrics, or I'll pull some of my own." She spoke in part snarl and part wheeze.

  The woman was deranged, and I was over it. "Move your bus. I need to pull into my driveway."

  "Keep up the antics, and I'll add to your Rothman woes." Spitballs formed at the corners of her lips. "I've been planning to put that mansion on my itinerary, and if it weren't for that beast Elise, I would've been rolling in dough."

  She wasn't only deranged—she was hysterical. "You need help, Harriet. You're rambling and foaming."

  The flag on her bowler bobbed from contained rage. "You're just like her. You cost me a driver."

  And maybe a husband.

  "To top that off, every client on the eight a.m. tour asked for a refund." She flailed her arms. "So either you move that shock wagon, or I fabricate evidence to tell Lester Marshall."

  I squeezed the steering wheel to keep from going for her throat. "One deceitful word to the police, and I'll resort to your slander-suit tactics. Oh, and FYI, I have no idea what a 'shock wagon' is."

  "Step out of the car and behold."

  I hesitated because I smelled a setup—and her BO. But she seemed genuinely riled, and I wanted to know the reason. "First, you go to the porch."

  She clenched all that was clenchable and clomped her clogs toward the salon.

  I turned off the engine and, keeping an eye on Harriet, walked around the empty bus. The Finials and Facades truck was parked in front, and before it was a dilapidated station wagon with "Critter Ridder" spray-painted in bright orange. Tommy Two Fingers must have come to give me an estimate for the rat extermination, but Harriet thought the wagon was a ploy to scare away her clients.

  Harriet stepped off the porch. "Your little prank could cost me a mint, so you'd best drive that jalopy away before the noon tour."

  "It's no prank. The station wagon is legit. We've got a lot of critters to rid—inside and out." I gave her a pointed look as I crossed the lawn. "But I'd be delighted to show your prospectors the giant rat's nest in the wall."

  A low, feline growl came from deep in her chest, and I darted into the salon. Then I locked the door, pointed to the Closed sign, and lowered the blind for good measure.

  Hammering came from upstairs.

  I climbed to the third floor and entered the tower room.

  A scrawny, wiry fellow with a ponytail and handlebar mustache inspected the platform Big Ron had built for Gia's makeup chair. He turned and stuck out a hand sans the last three digits. "You must be Cassidi."

  "Tommy, right?" I shook his palm.

  "How'd ya know?"

  "I just fingered, I mean, figured." My face grew hot, but he didn't seem to notice the gaffe.

  Big Ron slid his hammer into his tool belt. "I showed Tommy the rats' nest."

  Tommy's head bounced, as did his handlebars. "It's a big 'un, but it's a straightforward critter catch. Won't cost much. I just need to set a few traps."

  If only he could trap the rat in the hat out front. "What do you do with the rats after you catch them?"

  "Give 'em to you, if you want. They make good eats."

  "Uh, you can keep them."

  "You might wanna ponder that. Vietnamese women eat 'em to stay young lookin'. They fry 'em up with the heads and tails on, kind of like meat on a stick but with faces."

  I thought of Trang, aka Jenny, and hoped she hadn't passed that recipe on to my aunt, along with her language. "I'll stick to pho and bánh mì, thank you."

  "Cassidi, are you up there?" Alex's voice came from the stairwell.

  "In the tower," I called.

  She entered the room, and I could tell something was up. Her face was a white as her blouse.

  "I talked to Martin VanSant. The case against George and Gia is strong, so the judge denied bail."

  I sat on the platform, regretting that I'd nixed Gia's throne. If, or rather, when she was released from jail, I'd let her turn the tower room into a tiny leopard-inspired version of Versailles if she wanted.

  "I'm sorry, ladies." Big Ron hung his head. "I always said there was something fishy about George, but he ain't no killer. And now that they've arrested Gia, I know they got the wrong people."

  Alex touched his arm and sat beside me. "I told Martin about A Pocket Full of Rye when I called him, and he asked George about it this morning."

  I rested my chin on my knees. "How did he explain that?"

  "He said he'd intended to participate in the book club, but Esprit de Corpse held the first couple of meetings in December, which is the busy season for florists."

  "For critter ridders too," Tommy said. "Lots of rodents pick up and move indoors for the winter."

  Alex silenced him with a glare. "But, he ordered the book in person, and guess who was in line behind him?"

  My chin popped up. "Katrina?"

  "The one and, thankfully, only."

  So Katrina had framed George. "Were there witnesses?"

  "The cashier, Alicia Holmes. I'm about to go to Dangerous Reads to find out if she remembers seeing them."

  It wasn't enough to prove Katrina's guilt, but it was a start.

  A beep sounded, and Tommy glanced at his phone. "Imma have to git. Someone let a python loose down at the duck pond."

  A shiver slithered up my backside. I related to those ducks—sitting, waiting to be swallowed.

  He slipped his phone into a shirt pocket. "Sure you don't want those rats, Cassidi?"

  "Not unless you can put them in Harriet McCudgeon's tour bus." It sounded like a joke, but I was serious—and hoping Tommy would say yes.

  Alex snapped her fingers. "The bats."

  "Rats," I corrected.

  She shook her head. "No, bats. Tommy, can you come back and set those traps today?"

  "Sure. Won't take no time."

  "And could you catch some rats by midnight tonight?"

  Big Ron broke into a grin. "I see where you're going, Alex."

  I didn't, but I assumed it had something to do with the story Amy had told me about Tommy ridding George's would-be attic of bats.

  Tommy twisted a handlebar with his two fingers. "If I put out some marshmallows, I should have a passel of 'em by then."

  I looked from Alex to Tommy. "Rats eat marshmallows?"

  "It's like catching flies with honey." Alex rose and pulled her car keys from her pants pocket. "Everyone meet at my house at eight p.m. sharp. And Cassidi, bring Zac. I'll have Dolly, Gram's cook, make us all dinner."

  My hand went to my throat. "To eat the rats?"

  Her smile was radiant, yet deviant. "I would never eat a rat, not literally, anyway. We're removing them from The Clip and Sip…and using them to disinfest the Rothman mansion."

  * * *

  Janiece Jordan rose from the formal dining table at Rockgrove, the classic Queen Anne Victorian home where she and Alex lived. She was in her nineties, but with her powder-white hair, elegant blue pantsuit, and pearls, she was still a handsome woman. "Let's retire to the parlor, shall we?"

  "Great idea, Gram." Alex stood and tossed her cloth napkin beside her plate. "We've got to get to work."

  I pushed back my chair, grateful to escape Dolly's potpie. The bite I'd sampled was delicious, but I couldn't eat. I kept thinking of Gia and George. And rat meat.

  Zac slipped his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. I was also grateful for him and his support. When I'd told him we were devising a plan to help Gia and George, he was all in.

  We followed the trail of Gram's Shalimar perfume into a gorgeous parlor. Rockgrove was built on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, so the room afforded breathtaking views of the bay and the old lighthouse.

  Big Ron and Tommy Two Fingers reclined in oversized armchairs near a wide stone fireplace with an already lit fire, and Gram and Alex sat in a sea of throw pillows on a weathered leather couch. Zac and I took the couch across from them and snuggled beneath an afghan blanket.

  "S
tupid wench, stupid wench!"

  Everyone started.

  The name-calling had come from some sort of bird, but there wasn't one in the room.

  Tommy's eyes were as round as the turquoise clasp on his bolo tie. "You got critter ghosts in this painted lady?"

  Alex rose and went to a corner. With a flourish, she removed a cover from a giant brass and iron birdcage. "Meet Smitty, Gram's sixty-four-year-old parrot."

  Tommy smoothed his mustache. "Don't seem right to let a critter talk to you that way, no matter how old he is."

  Gram waved a hand, revealing an impeccable manicure. "He's complaining about Dolly. He gets his feathers ruffled, quite literally, when she forgets to uncover his cage after she vacuums."

  Alex gave Smitty a handful of seeds and returned to the couch. "All right, coconspirators. It's time to discuss the details of Operation Disinfestation."

  The code name reminded me of Operation Goldfinger, Gia's plan to get rid of Harriet, and I got fired up. I'd only spent a few hours in our house since her arrest, but I already knew there was "no way, rosé" that I could live there without her. "What's the plan? Tommy catches the rats and releases them in the Rothman mansion?"

  Big Ron tapped his chest. "With my and Zac's help."

  Tommy's nose twitched. "A few months back, Katrina called me out to remove a family o' coons from their attic. I know the place like the back of my hand." He raised the one with two fingers and gave them a wiggle. "We'll let the rats loose, and I guarantee them ladies'll go a runnin' from the mansion."

  "Varmint!" Smitty squawked and flapped his wings.

  We all jumped again.

  I eagle-eyed the parrot. Either he understood our conversation, or his timing was uncanny. "What time will you release them, Tommy?"

  "Depends on when Elise 'n' Katrina go to sleep, but I'm guessin' around one a.m. tonight, give or take."

  Alex looked at me. "I've asked Bree Milford to text both of us the very minute Ocean View gets any unexpected guests."

  "You think they'll spend the night at the B&B?" Zac asked.

  Gram nodded. "Elise once told me that hotels are too common for her liking. She much prefers a nice bed and breakfast. And besides, Rhys is already staying at Ocean View."