Killer Eyeshadow and a Cold Espresso (A Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery) Page 3

  My cheeks warmed at the irony behind his question. It was well known around town that Gia and I were looking into my uncle's murder—others too on an as-needed basis—and that our sleuthing had caused Detective Ohlsen a fair amount of stress. In fact, I was pretty sure we were to blame for the extra salt in his salt-and-pepper hair.

  "Well, we hired Alex Jordan to do some work on the house, and when I took her to the tower, she said that it was my uncle's bedroom and that the room he was found in was his office."

  He shifted in his seat. "It has been over a year. Maybe she was confused."

  "She's a carpenter, not a calamad."

  Detective Ohlsen looked to me for a translation of Gia's New Jersey Italian, which he often did even when she spoke straight English.

  "It means squid, as in a stupid person."

  "I see." He rubbed his mouth. "I suppose Vinnie could've moved his furniture when Alex left."

  "Right after having her do an estimate for a platform for his bed and some office shelves?" I asked.

  Gia sat up and cast an annoyed look over her shoulder. "Vinnie was a gigolo, not a gidrul."

  "Cucumber," I translated, "as in idiot."

  The detective's gaze drifted from me back to the boat photo. "I agree that Vinnie was a smart man, but to be frank, I can't say the same about his business choices. Now I appreciate the information, and I'll note it in the case file."

  "That's it?" Gia exclaimed. "No comment, no theory?"

  "I've told you both at least twenty times that I can't discuss a pending investigation."

  The quiet in his voice said the matter was closed, but I decided to try a less accusatory approach. "In all fairness, Detective, you don't seem surprised by the news. Does this mean you already knew about the furniture?"

  "What it means is that I need you to trust me to handle the case in a way that leads to an arrest and a conviction."

  "I'll translate this one, Cass." Gia stared down the detective, standoff style. "That's cop-ese for yes."

  Although I shared her frustration, I stood and pulled her from the chair before she smarted off with another Italian food word for moron—or worse. "We'd better get back to the salon."

  "Yeah," Gia said, "because if we hurry, we can make Harriet's tour."

  Detective Ohlsen rose to his feet. "You ladies have a pleasant day. And stay out of trouble."

  I raised the corners of my mouth high enough to be polite but didn't make any promises on either count. After all, it was time for the next Gold Rush History tour, and I did live with Gia.

  We entered a hallway that led to the entrance, and Gia sidled up to me. "Something's not right about that furniture."

  "I think I know what it is."

  "Are you gonna clue me in?"

  "Vinnie's body was moved along with that furniture."

  Gia stopped short, and I did too. But for a different reason.

  A slender woman around six feet in height stared at us from behind a potted plant in the lobby. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, but there was no mistaking her, thanks to her regular appearances on the society page of the Cove Chronicles and, more recently, the front page.

  Elise Ingall Rothman, hardware-store heiress and wife of the murderous Jesse.

  She removed her sunglasses, revealing bright blue eyes sans crow's feet, despite her reported fifty years. "You're those stylists from The Clip and Sip."

  I nodded, reluctant to engage her in conversation.

  She pulled a black duster cardigan around her and peered from side to side before stepping from behind the plant.

  "I'm sure you've heard that my Jesse is being released today, so I'm sorry to run into you under these unfortunate circumstances." She held up her hands. "No, no, Elise," she said, talking to her herself. "It's all a matter of perspective." She closed her eyes and took a meditative breath. "It's fortunate that you ran into these girls at the police station."

  Gia shot me a sideways look and tapped her right temple, the Italian gesture for touched in the head.

  Elise's eyes popped open, and we jumped.

  "Jesse and I are renewing our vows in a ceremony at our home tomorrow. We were so young when we married, and we want to reaffirm our commitment."

  "Hey, uh," Gia fumbled, "your life choices are none of our business."

  I would've said congratulations, but okay.

  "Interesting comment." Elise rested the tip of her sunglasses on her lip. "But this life choice is your business. The Seattle salon I hired for hair and makeup has canceled, so I want to contract The Clip and Sip."

  We needed money, but the nature of Jesse's crime and his association with my uncle made the deal a no way. "I'm flattered that you would think of us, but it's not enough notice."

  She put her hands on her hips and looked down at her beige Jimmy Choos. "They're right to be reluctant, Elise. After all, Jesse was accused of a horrible crime."

  Gia's sideways look moved from me to the exit.

  Elise's head popped up, and we jumped again.

  "I'd like to invite you girls to look at this as an opportunity. It will be an easy job, and a lot of important people will be there, not to mention the press. How about I pay you double what you would've earned in a day and throw in the travel expenses I offered to the Seattle salon?"

  "That's generous, really," I said. "But I'm afraid we can't."

  Gia took my hand. "So we'll just be going."

  "Let's say ten thousand dollars?"

  Gia dropped my hand and grasped Elise's. "Need us to bring anything on our way over? Run some errands? Oh, and I have barista experience."

  It was good to know that my cousin couldn't be bought.

  An office door opened, and Jesse Rothman emerged. I would've said that the six months in jail hadn't been kind to him, but with his greasy dyed hair, wide nose, and fleshy, low-hanging lips, he'd hardly been handsome before his incarceration.

  "Good news, darling." Elise slid her arm in his. "Cassidi and Gia are going to make us pretty for our ceremony tomorrow."

  His dark eyes bored into mine, and his grin resembled a grimace.

  Not exactly courteous, but his reaction reflected how I felt.

  "We'll need you at nine a.m." Elise squeezed Gia's and my hands. "I'll email you our address within the hour. This will be so fun!"

  "A blast," Gia said.

  From a shotgun.

  They headed for the door, and after they'd exited, I turned to Gia. "Would you stop signing us up for things we can't do?"

  "I know. It's going to be hard to make that man anything close to pretty—"

  "I meant the job. Jesse's dangerous. I don't want his money."

  "But ten grand is half the renovation fee, so we could keep the Ferrari." She fist-pumped to get me pumped. "And he just got a Get Out of Jail Free card, so he's not going to do anything to anyone."

  "Excuse me for not trusting Lucky Luciano's look-alike."

  "His name is Rothman, and he's from Washington. The mob would never let him in."

  "Maybe not. But his first name is Jesse, like James, and he just got away with murder."

  The door slammed, and heels clicked on the tile.

  My cousin's frozen face told me it was Jesse.

  I turned, convinced he hadn't heard me. And yet his gaze exuded hate. Not only that, his gait was that of a gunslinger who'd challenged us to a duel.

  "I told my wife I forgot my ID," he said in a raspy drawl, "but I came to clear up any confusion."

  Gia and I exchanged a look. We hadn't been confused, but at that point we were.

  "While you're at the house tomorrow, you'd best stick to hair and makeup. Because if I find either of you poking around for that casino money…" He closed his eyes and sneered, and then his eyes popped like his wife's. "…your lady luck'll run out."

  CHAPTER THREE

  The ringing of slot machines woke me. I rolled onto my back and pulled a pillow over my head.

  Wait a second. I wasn't in Atlanti
c City, or even Las Vegas. And even if I were, there wouldn't be any slots in my bedroom. I didn't stay at that kind of hotel.

  I tossed the pillow and opened my eyes. My alarm clock projected 6:01 a.m. onto the ceiling above my bed. I slid my hand from beneath the warm pink quilt and grabbed the noisemaker, my ringing phone, from the nightstand.

  The caller was Carla Di Mitri, my father's sister, Gia's stepmother, and a near clone of Peg Bundy from Married… with Children. I'd last seen her at my uncle's funeral in a leopard spandex dress trimmed with black lace, holding a hot pink rosary and sobbing into her husband Frank's red satin handkerchief.

  I tapped Answer. "Hey, Aunt Carla."

  "Sorry I missed your cawl last night," she said in her New Jersey accent. "I made a lasagna, and everybody came ovuh. Carmine and Rosalie, Gino and Carmela, Joey and Giovanna…"

  I watched the time on the ceiling while she ran through the list. Italian-American women name-dropped friends and relatives like social climbers did connections. "That's okay. I was calling—"

  "Hold it right theuh, doll. As the matriarch of this family, I have a right to know how my niece is doing."

  I braced myself against the pillows for the usual questions, in order of importance, and questionable advice.

  "Are you eating?"

  "Of c—"

  "Because I pray to God every night that you girls can find decent food, what with all that fish and lobstah."

  Like my Aunt Magnolia in Texas, who only ate red meat, my Aunt Carla had a healthy disdain for protein with gills. She said oceans and lakes were nothing but "giant johns."

  "Make sure you eat plenty of Italian sausage because pork fat keeps your skin plump and supple."

  And the rest of me too.

  "Now, what's the status with that boyfriend?"

  "We're doing great."

  "So you're still single." She sounded like she'd bitten into a bad garlic clove. "You've gotta go in through the stomach, Cassidi Lee. That's how I got all my husbands. They tasted my ragù, and the next thing you know I had a ring on my finguh. I'll send you my recipe."

  I thanked her even though I had no plans to make the proposal-inducing sauce. I wasn't the type to try to lure Zac or any man into marrying me. And if I were, I'd make a dish that not only landed a husband, but also kept one.

  "So, what were you cawling about yesterday?"

  "Uncle Vinnie."

  "God rest his soul." She sighed the sorrow of a hundred Virgin Marys. "But if my brothuh was here today, I'd give him such a smack. What that man put me through you'll never know."

  Actually, I did. She told me every time she called. "I wanted to ask if you recognized the name of one of his business associates, Jesse Rothman."

  "Who's his mothuh? Is she Italian?"

  "I don't know. Gia and I ran into him, and he mentioned casino money, like he owed Uncle Vinnie a cut."

  "Why would he tell that to yous two? What's going on?"

  "Don't get all worked up about this," I said, knowing it was as futile as suggesting she switch to whole-wheat pasta, "but he might've brought it up because he just got out of jail."

  "'Don't get all worked up,' she says. Well, I am, and I've got the agita to prove it. Did that criminal threaten you girls?"

  I heard clicking, and I imagined her pacing in too-high heels on the marble tile of her Versace-inspired kitchen. "His wife hired us for their vow renewal this afternoon, and he told us not to look for the money."

  "Marrone," she said, invoking the Madonna, "my heart feels like a piece of veal under a meat tenderizer." A cabinet door slammed. "Frank, where's the damn Campari?"

  "We'll be fine, Aunt Carla. A lot of prominent people will be there, so try to stay calm, okay?"

  "How do you expect me to stay calm when my niece and my stepdaughter could be mob targets?"

  I froze, hoping she was referring to a flash mob. "Could you explain that last comment?"

  "It's that Atlantic City business. I always said it was how Vinnie got the money to buy the property in Danger Cove."

  I sat up in bed. "He owned a casino?"

  "Two years ago, about nine months before he passed, he told me he had a business there, but he was secretive about it. And what else could he have had his hands in?"

  Where my Uncle Vinnie was concerned, I'd learned not to ask that question—in a couple of respects.

  "Gambling has been the bread and buttuh of the Atlantic City mob since it was legalized in the seventies. And before that it was bathtub booze during the Prohibition."

  I lay back and pulled the quilt to my chin. "So you think he was involved with the Mafia?"

  "Why else would he leave Jersey? It's paradise heuh."

  New Jersey was no Hawaii, but she might've had a point about Uncle Vinnie's move. Washington was on the opposite coast, so if Vinnie had wanted to escape the Cosa Nostra, Danger Cove was a good place to come. Unfortunately, he hadn't changed his name, which meant that a hit man could have located him and done him in.

  "I just had an idea. Vinnie used to be close to Carmine's cousin Sal, and Sal's sistuh Gloria plays canasta with Angelina, the one with the droopy eye at Dino's Bakery. She sees things, that one."

  My gaze drifted back to the ceiling, and I wondered whether there was any science to support droopy eyes and heightened powers of sight.

  "I'll ask her to get Gloria to talk to Sal and find out if Vinnie ever mentioned a casino. In the meantime, stay away from that Jesse charactuh, and definitely keep Gia from him. She's got a mouth, that one."

  Carla didn't have to tell me that. Gia's mouth spoke for itself. "We can't back out on his wife at the last minute. Who knows what he would do?"

  "Then you'd better watch out for the guests."

  "Why?"

  She took a long slurp, probably of an Italian Sunrise, her favorite drink. "Times are harder than evuh for Atlantic City casinos. If money's been missing and this man just got out of the joint, then someone could come to collect. And if the money ain't theuh, you know what happens next."

  Yes, and anyone who'd ever seen a Mafia movie did too.

  "Someone's gonna get whacked. And if Vinnie was his associate, that someone could be yous two."

  I slipped underneath the quilt. That was a scene I hadn't predicted.

  * * *

  "I'm Katrina Schwarz, the mansion manager." The six-foot female's bodybuilder biceps flexed as she led Gia and me into a spacious but stark dressing room. "Mrs. Rothman is on her way with hair and makeup instructions. Until she's here, don't go anywhere or touch anything." Her green eyes turned granite as they scanned our faces, and she strode from the room.

  Gia closed the door behind her. "That one's as icy as her peroxide pixie."

  I took a seat on a metal chair. "She fits with the décor. Just look at all the concrete and metal."

  "I am." Gia surveyed a spiky silver chandelier. "I knew they had rich people houses in Craggy Hill Estates, but this place is big enough to rival Buckingham Palace."

  "If only it had the Queen's Guard."

  She tossed her makeup bag onto the Hollywood-style vanity. "I know you're stressed about that call with Aunt Carla, but we're safe with Schwarzenegger in the house."

  "It's Schwarz."

  "Is it? Because those rock-hard muscles are all Arnold. And I'm pretty sure they could stop bullets from a Tommy Gun."

  I stood and paced in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. "I'll be all right if we can get to work soon and then get out."

  "But not before we collect that fat paycheck." Gia slipped off her blue faux fur coat, and the cameo brooch was on the bodice of her black strappy dress.

  "You took that from my dresser?"

  "I'm sorry. Did you want to wear it?"

  "I want to find the rightful owners."

  She shrugged. "It's ours until it's someone else's."

  It was hard to argue with that.

  The door opened, and Elise wafted in wearing a red dragon-adorned dressing gown and high-heeled
slippers. "A reporter from the Cove Chronicles is coming at eleven, and none of my bridesmaids are here." Her head dropped low. "Don't panic, Elise. It will work out."

  I wished I shared that sentiment.

  Her head rocketed up, and I half expected her to breathe fire. "Cassidi, when the matron of honor arrives, could you give her a simple updo?"

  "How about a French twist?"

  "Perfect, because I'd like a Grace Kelly tuck." She put her hand on Gia's shoulder. "Let's be frank, shall we?"

  I shot my cousin a don't-you-dare stare.

  Elise's shoulders did a woe-is-me slump. "Jail was unkind to Jesse's skin."

  That and a lifetime of scowling.

  "Well, I can touch him up with my Mad Makeup base."

  "I'm so relieved. He's showing my brother, Rhys, around his man cabin out back." She gestured out a window to a large structure that resembled a hunting lodge. "When he gets out, pay special attention to his eyes. I can't have him in the newspaper with those dark circles."

  "I've got the perfect products for that."

  "Splendid." She clasped her hands. "You girls feel free to set up your things. I'm off to check on the flowers, and then I'll be getting a pre-ceremony massage in the spa. It's the building with the fitness center next to the man cabin, if you need me." Elise sailed from the room.

  Gia shook her head. "Her own spa and fitness center. I don't even think Buckingham Palace has that."

  "Apparently, there's good money in hardware stores."

  "And in a criminal husband's casino."

  "Sh." I waved my arms. "Do not say the C words in this house, especially around Jesse. And when you're doing his touch-up, please don't do anything crazy like a male smoky eye. On the off chance he is what we think he is, I don't want your makeup job on his reasons-to-hit list."

  "Chill, okay?" She removed an eyeshadow palette from her makeup bag. "I'm going to use a neutral shadow from one of my smoky eye kits and some concealer."

  "What about the bridesmaids? Elise didn't say anything about them."

  Gia lit up like the vanity. "Stained-glass makeup."