Cat Scratch Cleaver Read online

  She slits her gaze my way once again. “I’ll try to speak with what’s left of the production crew. Let me know if you botch things up further and chase them out of town for good.”

  “Mackenzie.” I wince at how callous she sounds. “They lost their lead actress. I doubt they’ll be finishing the film.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if you know how the world works.” She takes off just as Fish scampers into the café and heads over to where Sherlock relocated once he spotted the mad Mayor.

  They’re coming this way, Bizzy. Fish yowls. And Georgie is with them.

  I glance to the entrance.

  I suppose I’ll learn who they are in just a few seconds.

  Georgie, Faith Grayson, and Kiki Woodley all stride into the café at once and they look like a trio of women on a mission.

  “Bizzy!” Georgie snaps her fingers over her head as if she were dancing the calypso, and in that tie-dyed pink and blue kaftan, she looks just about ready to. “These girls were at the front desk asking for you.”

  Kiki, the girl with long red curls and enormous brown eyes, gives a nervous laugh.

  “I was looking for a short stack,” she says my way.

  “You’re in the right place,” I tell her. “We can get that for you right over there.” I nod to the register before looking back at Georgie. “This is Faith Grayson, the production assistant, and Kiki Woodley, the makeup artist. S’mores bars, anyone?” I hold out a tray in their direction and they each thank me as they snatch a few up.

  “Ooh!” Georgie’s entire face brightens, and I can tell by that wily look in her eye I won’t like what comes next. “Bizzy is getting hitched in a couple of weeks. Do you do makeup for weddings?”

  Kiki laughs. “Well, I tend to lean heavy on special effects.” I haven’t done makeup for a wedding since that horrible night. She closes her eyes a moment.

  I narrow my gaze over at her.

  She almost made Heather’s death sound as if it happened years ago. But then, people are in shock, and there’s no saying a private thought has to make sense.

  “I’ve got it covered, Georgie,” I say. “But thank you for thinking of me.”

  Georgie averts her eyes. “Who said I was talking about you? I’m in need of one serious makeover for the big day. And with special effects, I bet she could make me look twenty. How many special effects will twenty bucks get me?”

  Kiki takes a breath and holds it. “About ten minutes?”

  Georgie belts out a low, gravelly laugh. “You’re on, Toots.”

  Faith, the shorter woman with the pale skin and dark scruffy hair that lands around her neck, raises a hand briefly.

  “Actually, I was looking to speak with you, Bizzy. Peter wanted to assure you the production team would be around for a bit, filming a few finishing shots.”

  Georgie makes a croaking sound. “I guess it’s true what they say. The show must go on. Hey? They’re not going to use any footage from the crime scene, are they?”

  Both Faith and Kiki grimace at the thought.

  “No.” Faith gives her a careful smile as if she were suddenly speaking to a toddler. “We were basically at the end of our production. If anything, they’ll hire another actress to fill the role. There were only two or three scenes she had to film next and they were death scenes.”

  A horrible groan escapes Georgie.

  “Life imitating art!” she howls. “It happens all the time. I’m a big believer in it. I recently put a replica of myself in the mosaic I’m working on, and next to my portrait I put a handsome mosaic man in a Hawaiian shirt, and guess what?” She elbows Faith and clucks her tongue. “I caught me a live one last night at the taping.”

  Faith lifts her brows. “It sounds as if you made off better than poor Heather.”

  Kiki shudders. How can she be so cold-blooded? A person died. Heather was slaughtered, and Faith’s practically making a joke out of it. I can’t wait to get out of my contract with these people. Maybe I’ll move to New York and find another cold-blooded group to work with. It’s about what I deserve at this point.

  I nod to Faith. “Thank you for letting me know that you plan on finishing the film. The inn and the grounds around it are yours for as long as you need them. If you need any rooms or if anyone wants to rent a cottage, I can arrange that.”

  The inn has several dozen rooms, and, in addition to them, the expansive grounds are dotted with more than several dozen cottages. I happen to live in one and Jasper happens to live right in front of me in another. I guess it’s time to start thinking of where we’ll live once we make it official. So much is going to change. And poor Heather, nothing will ever change for her again.

  Faith nods. “You bet I’ll let you know. I’m sure we’re fine, though. Most everyone on the crew is local.”

  I lean in. “So what’s the word with the crew anyway? Who do they think could have done something like this?”

  Faith and Kiki exchange a glance.

  Kiki clears her throat. “There is a rumor that a certain person who was close to her lost his temper.”

  Faith looks irritated by the thought. Wow, Kiki, why don’t you just throw Peter under the bus?

  “Peter?” I whisper, inadvertently playing off of Faith’s thoughts.

  Faith closes her eyes a moment. “I guess it wasn’t a far leap. Anyway, we’re not sure about anything. We’ve decided it’s best the sheriff’s department conduct their own investigation. We both did our interviews with the detective, and it’s up to them to put this puzzle together.”

  I examine their faces. They’re both so stoic, it’s almost strange. Why would anyone cover for something like this?

  “I see,” I whisper. “Did Peter do anything yesterday that made you both suspicious?” They don’t need to know that speaking to me is just as good as talking to the homicide detective himself.

  “Well”—Kiki glances around as if she were expecting him to be lurking nearby—“He was edgier than usual. I heard him arguing with Heather just before the shoot. About what, I don’t know, but Heather said she had enough.”

  Interesting.

  Faith casts a quick glance to the counter, in the exact spot where I saw her wiping down those prints last night—or at least that’s what I’m guessing she was doing.

  “I saw him just as the room drained last night,” Faith whispers. “You would think he would have been the first down there to see what was going on. He went to the kitchen and said he was thirsty.”

  Sherlock comes over wagging his tail. I bet that’s when he washed his hands, Bizzy. I saw him do it. I asked him for bacon and got nada in return. He was too busy soaping up his arms.

  Soaping up his arms? Sounds like he was getting ready for surgery. Or perhaps just finished butchering his lead actress to death.

  “I bet Peter is laying low today,” I say, mostly to myself before perking up and feigning a weak smile for the two of them. “It’s a trying time, I’m sure. Do you think he’s around the inn?”

  Faith shakes her head. “Oh no, he’s long gone. I’d say he went home, but home for Peter has been a warzone as of late.”

  Kiki lifts a finger. “I know for a fact he likes to hang out at a place called Slick Willy’s. It’s a bar that pretends to be a restaurant. They’ve got a lounge where creative types like to go after work and complain to one another.”

  Faith nods. “That’s right. He reads scripts there. He says it’s the only place his wife doesn’t bug him.”

  Poor Jane. Faith shakes her head. If anyone would have told me there would be a body yesterday, I would have guessed it would be Peter’s—and with Jane at the other end of the cleaver.

  After what I witnessed last night, that wouldn’t have shocked me either.

  The register clears up and the two women head down to order their breakfasts.

  Georgie leans my way, bobbing her head and snapping her fingers as if her favorite song just filtered through the speakers.

  “Would
you believe me if I were to tell you I was about to take Juni to lunch at Slick Willy’s this afternoon?”

  “No,” I deadpan.

  “Well, you should because that’s exactly where we’re heading.”

  “That’s funny. It’s exactly where I’m heading, too.”

  Chapter 5

  Slick Willy’s is exactly as classy a joint as its name suggests it would be.

  The place itself is located about twenty minutes outside of Cider Cove in a scruffy town called Edison. I’d say there are not a lot of attractive things about Edison in general, but I’m guessing the men ogling all of these interestingly dressed women might disagree.

  Georgie, Juni, and I just stepped into the small, boxy building that hosts this catastrophe, and I’m still not sure if it’s a bar, restaurant, pool hall, coffee shop, or discothèque. Clearly, Slick Willy’s is in the middle of an identity crisis because by the looks of the mishmash taking place, it’s all of the above.

  It’s dark inside, which makes it feel like midnight despite the fact it’s the middle of the afternoon, black wooden floors, no windows, and crimson walls with lots of framed pictures of beautiful women strewn all over.

  Raucous country music bleats from the speakers, and it smells like the hot dogs and pizza that those scantily clad waitresses are hauling around on platters. Not exactly a Michelin five-star restaurant, but judging by the name, I wasn’t expecting it to be.

  The establishment itself is expansive inside. There’s a left wing and a right, and from where we’re standing we can see both.

  Juni lets out an egregious moan. “Look at all these hot chicks,” she spits it out as if it were the worst news in the world. And knowing Juni’s M.O. usually involves garnering the attention of every man in the room, I can see why she’s not so thrilled.

  Juni is a younger version of Georgie. Her mostly caramel-colored hair is doing its best to catch up in the gray department. She’s got less wrinkles by half at least, but she shares the same wily gleam in her sparkling blue eyes, same happy-go-lucky—some might say insane—disposition in life. And much like her mother, Juni has a very specific style when it comes to clothing. She’s less of a kaftan lover and more of a biker chick gone wild.

  This afternoon she’s treating us to a pleather number, short skirt, with what looks to be a metal studded bra that she’s chosen to wear on the outside of her tight black T-shirt.

  Of course, Georgie has gone with the standard fare, a white kaftan with pastel dots printed all over it. There’s a slight circus appeal to it, and with Georgie in general, that’s par for the course. I’m still stuck in the same pink sundress I wore to work this morning.

  “Look at all these women.” Juni wags a polished red fingernail, at least two inches long, at the crowd. “How’s a girl supposed to nab a man when every girl in here has already cast her fishnets?”

  “Hey”—I lean to get a better look at the crowd at hand—“you’re right. Half these women really do have fishnets on. And the other half looks as if they’re about to go to prom. It’s still the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, right? I wonder what gives?”

  “Bizzy, Bizzy.” Georgie tucks her fists to her hips and rolls her eyes. “Not everyone needs a weekend to have a good time. Some of us like to be in bed by seven. You gotta get your good time in while the getting’s hot.” She claps her hands and rubs them together as if she were relishing what lies ahead. “Now let’s get in there and rumble.” The enthusiasm on her face suddenly wanes. “Aw, shucks. I just remembered Darby is meeting me here for drinks. Leave it to me to ruin a potential hot spot for meeting new men by dragging a date to the scene.”

  I look to Juni. “Speaking of dates, don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  Juni snorts. “Spike and I like to keep our options open. When you’re my age, seen as much as I’ve seen, been married as much as I have, dated and mated as many prison guards as I’ve been lucky to, you learn to play fast and loose with the rules of love.”

  Juni has spent a majority of her life playing fast and loose with a lot of things.

  A waitress comes by wearing short shorts that redefine the word short and a sparkling sequin top that’s blue with white stars. I have a feeling a lot of people leave here seeing stars. I’m taking her choice of accouterments as a harbinger of sorts.

  “I’m Stacy.” She flashes a winning smile. She seems nice enough, older than me by about ten years, blonde hair that’s partially blue around the front, the same hue as her blouse, and I’m betting that was no accident. Her skin is deeply tanned with a touch of pink on her nose as if she were striving hard to soak in the summer sun and achieving her sunburnt goals. And her pants—well, I’m not sure she’s wearing any. “Just three today?”

  “Four,” Georgie grunts while tossing her hands up. It’s obvious she’s still in deep regret over the fact she’s invited her Hawaiian shirt wearing friend from last night.

  A thought hits me. Darby, the Hawaiian shirt wearing friend in question, was there at the café. He might have seen something. This is perfect. Not only will I hopefully get a chance to question Peter Olsen this afternoon, but I’ll get to pick Darby’s brain, too. It’s a two-for-one deal an amateur sleuth like me can’t pass up. It looks as if Slick Willy’s is working out for me after all.

  Stacy gathers four menus from behind the podium in the foyer and Juni leans her way, leering at the woman’s body with the slight look of judgment.

  “Those are some hot pants,” Juni muses. “Where’d you get ’em?”

  “Down the street at a place called Hot Mamas. They’re running a two-for-one deal on everything in the store.”

  Juni leans back. “Hear that?” she says through the side of her mouth, doing her best impression of a ventriloquist. “It looks like we’re going to do a little hot-to-trot shopping right after lunch.”

  “Ooh.” Georgie elbows me. “Remember to keep an eye out for a wedding dress.”

  “I highly doubt I’ll be buying my wedding dress from a place called Hot Mamas.”

  Georgie twitches her cheek. “You’re right. That’s more of a wedding night kind of a place. I’ll help you pick out a few pieces that will make the good detective howl like a werewolf in front of a full moon.”

  Juni gasps. “Count me in on that howling good time. I’m not letting Hot Mamas hold out on me. Lord knows I live to make men howl at the moon. Usually it’s in pain, but I get just as big a kick out of it.”

  Stacy’s eyes grow large with fright and I don’t have to be a mind reader to know she’s already thinking of calling security. But since I am a mind reader…

  “Hey, Stacy? You wouldn’t happen to know if a man by the name of Peter Olsen is here, would you?”

  “Oh?” The woman rocks back on her spiked stilettos. “You’re here for that.” Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged these women for trying to hitch a ride on the Peter Olsen Express. But then, this entire room is the gateway to the casting couch.

  A breath hitches in my throat just hearing it.

  GAH!

  I give a quick look around, and sure enough, it makes perfect sense. An entire bevy of beautiful women are pawing over average, at best, slovenly looking men. This entire place is a hooker hovel for those wanting to trade their bits and pieces for bit parts in bad pieces—movies.

  A righteous anger begins to boil in my veins. I just hate the thought of innocent women being taken advantage of, even if they’re not that innocent.

  Stacy asks us to follow her and we’re led to the right, through a swarm of bodies as we’re seated near the back at a small table that looks as if it could hardly accommodate two, let alone four, but there are four chairs, so I’m sure it will all work out.

  She leans my way, and I’m suddenly engulfed by her sugary perfume.

  “He’s right behind you on the Naugahyde sofa going over scripts.”

  I glance back and spot the silver fox with a stack of paper on the small table in front of him and a buxom brunette in his lap. Anot
her look-alike brunette sits to his side, pawing over him as if she couldn’t wait to take a ride on the Peter Olsen Express as Stacy so eloquently put it.

  “It looks as if he’s got his hands full,” I whisper.

  Stacy bats her hand at the thought. “Don’t worry about interrupting. It’s the name of the game. All you have to do is let the girls know you want five minutes alone with him. They’ll beat it and head to the next guy.”

  “Next guy, huh?” I take a quick look around, and sure enough, there are enough sleazy looking men with stacks of paper in front of them to qualify as the next guy.

  Stacy straightens. “I’ll get you ladies a round of iced tea on the house. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

  Juni lifts a finger. “Make sure my iced tea makes a trip to Long Island by way of the bar.”

  “Gotcha!” Stacy laughs as she takes off.

  Juni bops her head to the twangy music pulsing through the place. “Hey? I wonder if I can land me a job at a snazzy place like this?”

  “I don’t know.” Georgie shakes her head as she gives a quick look around. “I get the feeling this is the kind of place where you need to sleep your way to the top.”

  I nod. “You’re intuitive, Georgie. That’s exactly the kind of place this is—sleezy.” Speaking of sleezy. “Hey, would you mind if I asked Darby a few questions once he gets here?”

  She hitches a wiry gray brow into her forehead. “Why, that’s a brilliant idea. You distract him while I go troll the bar for hot men.” She shoots me with her fingers. “I always knew you’d grow up to be my best wing woman.”

  “I’m glad I’m living up to your expectations.”

  Juni fluffs her hair with her fingers. “I’m about to do the same. Mr. Hot Buns at six o’clock is my mark. Wish me lick.”

  “You mean luck,” Georgie corrects.

  Juni winks. “I mean lick. I won’t be needing any luck.”

  I crane my neck to where her attention is pinned. Technically, that would be ten o’clock even from her vantage point, but I’m not going to argue the finer points of a clock face with her when I’ve clearly got a much bigger bone to pick with her licker.