Cat Scratch Cleaver Read online

“I am. And I think we can do an inspection without disrupting the guests.”

  “Good.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Jordy is looking to see if he can find any more of those metal menaces.” I scowl at the menace in a blonde wig before me. “I take it Jordy told you.”

  She gives a slight nod. “That, and the fact I heard that poor woman scream. You’ll be lucky if the inn isn’t sued for emotional distress.” She adjusts the little black dress she’s poured herself into with its plunging neckline. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m almost due on set.” She starts to take off just as Georgie pulls her back by the wrist.

  “Hey, Toots,” Georgie snarls. “Not so fast. What did you do to land this coveted part? I’m looking to score an Oscar-worthy role myself.”

  I snort without meaning to. “Georgie, I highly doubt Camila is going to put on an Oscar-worthy performance.”

  Camila’s cheek curls on one side. Oh, Dizzy Bizzy, I deserve an Oscar every time I’m nice to you.

  She plucks her wrist free from Georgie’s stronghold. “If you really want to catch the director’s attention, I’d suggest you do something to surprise him. I don’t know, maybe show him your best side.” She makes a face at Georgie while inspecting her features.

  Jasper nods my way. “Camila mentioned the library. A cleaver in a book?”

  I nod. “The cleaver is still in there. Emmie is making sure the guests don’t wander inside,” I say as he brushes a kiss to my cheek before taking off.

  “Must be nice,” Camila muses. “Knowing that you’ve bewitched Jasper with your constant need to have a detective by your side. You must make him feel very important. Good strategy. I’ll have to remember that for when I land him back by my side.”

  Fish yowls as she swipes a paw over at her. Let me at her. Just one scratch, and I promise she’ll never bother you again.

  Sherlock trots over and wraps himself around me while barking up at the blonde bimbo among us, and Camila wastes no time in snarling right back at him.

  “Oh hush, you,” Camila hisses just as Peter strides over.

  “Are you ready for your close-up?” He places his hand on her back, and I can’t help but note he’s gliding it down over her bottom.

  I can pretty much guess how she secured the role.

  “Hey, Pete!” Georgie dances her way in front of him. “Got any parts for a gray-haired cutie like me? I’m ready to move out from the obscurity of background talent and into the limelight of superstardom.”

  He raises a half-smile as if he were amused.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “Let’s see what ya got.”

  Before any of us can process what’s happening, Georgie whips off that sky blue kaftan and spins it over her head as if she was waving a flag, exposing us to two white sacks that look like a couple of pilgrim hats in lieu of a brassiere and a pair of off-white pants that I’m guessing are her undergarment of choice. Come to find out, Georgie’s skin underneath her clothes is pale as the underbelly of a fish and looks virtually wrinkle free.

  “Whoa.” Peter winces. “Okay, fine. Head over to hair and makeup and I’ll give you a line. But just one.”

  He takes off and Georgie lets out a whoop and dances a little jig that makes her jiggle and wiggle in all sorts of questionable places.

  “Mama!” Georgie’s daughter calls out as she comes running into the foyer, and shockingly she just so happens to be shirtless, too. I’m sensing a familial theme here. “Guess who just got Bates Barlow to come to the club tonight?” Juni belts out a whoop that rivals her mother’s.

  Georgie slaps her hands together. “That’s my girl. Did you have to resort to begging?”

  “Nope.” Juni expands her chest rather proudly. “He did.”

  Georgie howls out a laugh. “Don’t let anyone say us Conner women can’t get things done.”

  Camila scoffs over at them. “You’re a couple of loons.”

  Georgie leans her way. “Watch it, blondie. I know where you live, and I know a good book I can dig a cleaver out of.” She links arms with Juni. “Come on, kid. We don’t need to prove our sanity to anyone. Let’s go celebrate by swimming in the fountain.”

  Swimming in the fountain! Sherlock gives a happy bark as he takes off after them. It’s time to invade the waters!

  Fish circles my ankles, and I pick her up.

  Don’t worry, Bizzy. She nuzzles her head against my neck. I won’t ever invade your fountain.

  I nod as I kiss her on the forehead.

  But someone has very much invaded my inn with the intention of frightening my guests.

  I say enough is enough.

  I’m going to squeeze these suspects until one of them sings.

  Or I might just lose my mind and sling a cleaver in Camila’s direction.

  Maybe I’ll do both.

  Chapter 11

  The Silver Shufflers Nightclub sits on the border of Cider Cove and Edison, which gives it just enough of a wild vibe—and equal parts mild—to convince me this place might not be so bad. The club itself is located in a renovated senior center and is conveniently located next door to the fire department should anyone be in need of a first responder.

  Georgie, Juni, Macy, and I all pause outside the mirrored doors and inspect ourselves from head to foot before heading on in. The night air is so humid you’d think it was blowing straight off a boiling pot of water. The music from inside vibrates the walls outside of the establishment, and if I’m not mistaken, the smoke from a funny cigarette is lighting up our senses.

  “Them silver foxes better be worth it,” Juni grunts as she tugs down the pleather, ultra-tight-fitted mini skirt that looks as if it’s cutting off her blood supply.

  “They will be.” Macy blows her reflection a kiss before giving her blonde bob a quick flick. She’s opted for a red wrap dress that ties off to the side and matching heels that add a stratospheric lift of about six inches to her height.

  Juni starts in on an odd little dance, trying to get comfortable in her own clothes, and Macy smirks her way.

  “How on earth did you get that rubber band you call a skirt up onto your hips?” My sister has never been one to mince words.

  Juni snorts. “The same way every other American girl gets her pleather on—with bacon grease.”

  Georgie tips her head back and howls at the full moon for seemingly no good reason.

  “Georgie, what are you doing?” I squint her way as the sequins on her navy kaftan reflect pink and yellow as the lights from the entry to the club strobe over us.

  “I’m resetting my energy fields.” Georgie flips her hair upside down before straightening and repeating the dizzying motion three more times like a woman possessed. She turns toward the street and lets out one riotous roar that sends cars and people alike screeching to a stop.

  Macy gives her a tug on the sleeve. “Would you knock it off? You’ll have us arrested before we ever get inside, and I’m dying to see the caliber of silver foxes this place is housing.”

  “That’s right.” Juni whips out her lipstick and gives her mouth another ring of Riot Red. “This place is crawling with wealthy retirees just looking for some arm candy to cruise the Mediterranean with. How’d you think I found my last husband?” She gives her reflection a cheeky wink. “Of course, I’m not talking about your daddy.”

  Macy and I exchange a glance. It’s so easy to forget that Juni was once our stepmother, brief as that union might have been.

  Juni shakes her head. “No offense, but he turned out to be a dud. No yacht, no limo, no mansion, equals no Juni. Don’t get me wrong. That boy has all the right equipment he needs on his person, and believe me when I say he knows how to use it.”

  Macy and I gag and retch in unison.

  “All right, Juni.” Georgie pulls her close. “Remember, two drinks is all you get. Any more than that, and you can’t count the zeros in their bank accounts.”

  Juni gives a sober nod. “And that’s how I came to live with Sal. That man fed me nothing but
ramen and boxes of Captain Crunch cereal for six months straight.”

  Macy shakes her head. “Hey. What’s wrong with that?”

  I shrug over at them. “That happens to be the strict dietary regimen Macy has adhered to since she was eleven.”

  We head inside the club, where the sound of Dean Martin blares at deafening decibels and the faint scent of a medicinal form of menthol permeates the air.

  It’s dim inside, save for the pink spotlights giving everyone an unearthly rosy glow, and each table set out around the periphery of the room has a trio of candles flickering on it.

  Georgie grasps me by the arm. “So what do you girls think?”

  Macy shrugs. “The lighting is flattering if you’re going for that I’m-healthy-enough-to-see-another-decade look.”

  Juni nods. “And the candles give it that let’s-talk-to-our-dead-loved-ones look.”

  Georgie waves her off. “Everything is done in threes—for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. They’ve got a priest, pastor, and a rabbi stationed at the bar in the event we run into a spiritual emergency. In fact, Darby had me paint the logo to this place right above entry.”

  We turn, and sure enough, in bright blue letters it reads when you’re here, you’re right next door to heaven!

  I’ll admit, there’s something endearing about it, but then there’s something equally off-putting about it as well.

  I turn to Georgie. “So how many casualties is the place up to so far?”

  Macy leans in. “They’re obviously not meeting their quota if they invited you.”

  “Casualties smasualties.” Georgie sways to the music. “Let’s get these hips moving until we fall and we can’t get up.”

  A man in a bright blue Hawaiian shirt dotted with pineapples shuffles his way over, jabbing his thumbs every which way and tossing his feet around so erratically I’d say they could be classified as deadly weapons.

  “Guess who showed?” Darby plants a wet one right on Georgie’s kisser. “Bates Barlow is here sweatin’ to the oldies with the best of them.”

  Juni cranes her neck toward the dance floor. “That would explain the steady influx of young, hot cuties. I’d better go throw my skirt into the ring if I want to end the night on my back. Sorry, girls, but duty calls. I’ll see you on the flip side.” She snaps her fingers over her head as she trots on over like a woman on a man-eating mission.

  Macy cinches her dress tight and fluffs out her hair at the temples.

  “Sorry, Juni. Bates Barlow is coming home with me tonight. If anyone’s bedroom is equipped to have that much star power in it, it’s mine. I’ve got a taser, an assortment of bungee cords, and a pair of sterling silver handcuffs Santa himself tied me to my bedpost with last Christmas.”

  “Macy”—my chin dips a notch—“it sounds as if you’re ready to stage a hostage situation.”

  She shrugs. “You say inmate, I say playmate. Potato, poh-ta-to. I’ll eat ’em up either way.” She slinks off into the crowd, body jousting her way through the throngs of women swarming around Bates like a hive.

  “I said hostage situation,” I call after her as Georgie pulls me into her midst.

  “Now you’re talking my language.” She nods to the dance floor. “Darby still hasn’t got Bates to commit to investing, and he needs the money to keep the pink lights on.”

  Darby squints my way. “So you’re thinking I should take him somewhere against his will?”

  “No.” I shake my head at him in the event his hearing aid isn’t turned all the way up. “That would be a Class A felony. And trust me, if you make him go somewhere against his will, the sheriff’s department will make sure you go somewhere against your will and it won’t be nearly as fun.”

  He rolls his eyes. “It looks like it’s back to square one.”

  Georgie offers a commiserating nod. “Back to trying to coax him into a conversation?”

  Darby shakes his head. “Back to trying to blackmail him into giving me what I want.”

  A breath catches in my throat. “Do you have anything good on him?”

  He gives a simple nod. “I heard him and Heather arguing about twenty minutes before her body was discovered.”

  “You did?” I move in close, suddenly interested to hear any and everything he’s willing to tell me. “So what were they arguing about?”

  He rocks back on his heels. “It depends. How much cash are you willing to part with?”

  I shoot Georgie the stink eye before reverting my attention back to the bartering barracuda.

  “I don’t have cash, but how about this? You tell me what you heard, and instead of hosting the cast wrap party at the inn, I’ll tell Peter to host it right here at Silver Shufflers. The press will most likely be here, and that means free advertising to the entire country.”

  Okay, so all of the above might just be a sheer fabrication of my overactive imagination, but who could blame me when a murderous bit of gossip lies in wait?

  Darby twists his chubby little lips. “It’s a deal.”

  Both Georgie and I lean in.

  He gives a quick glance over his shoulder.

  “I heard him tell her she was paranoid,” he whispers as loud as he can. “That he loved her and that she was enough. And then she said, ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t deserve to be loved. After what I’ve done, I deserve everything I get.’”

  “And?” I nod furtively at him, waiting for him to really sock it to me.

  “And that’s the end. Georgie here snagged me, and we went behind the building to sneak a little smoochy smoochy.”

  Georgie gives his ribs a tickle. “And we would have done more if that woman wasn’t there taking off her shoes.”

  I suck in a quick breath. “You saw Jane taking off her shoes?” My eyes bug out because suddenly it feels as if this entire investigation lies in the hands of the king and queen of smoochy smoochy.

  Darby snaps his fingers. “That’s right. She said she needed to get her feet wet. She was melting in the heat.”

  Georgie shakes her head as she covers Darby’s ears with her hands.

  “She said she was having a hot flash, but men don’t like to think about that.” Her hips start gyrating to the music. “In fact, she said she was hot enough to commit a crime.”

  Georgie gives a wave as she leads Darby toward the dance floor in a hip-swinging move.

  Commit a crime?

  Those footsteps I saw that night come to mind.

  I saw Jane slipping on her shoes myself, and the wet sand on her feet.

  Come to think of it, when I told Peter about those cleavers we found around the inn, the first person he thought about was his wife. I know for a fact Heather and Peter were having an affair. But I thought she had left him for Bates? And what about this new revelation about Heather thinking she didn’t deserve love?

  I crane my neck into the ever-swelling crowd and spot Mayor Woods grinding her hips against some poor putz. And as I make my way in that direction, I soon discover that poor putz is a direct genetic relation of mine.

  My feet don’t hesitate taking me his way.

  “Huxley?” I pull my brother to the side, and soon he’s dancing with me, pulling my arms, making me move every which way like a rag doll. He’s still wearing his suit from the law office, and his bright red tie sits slightly askew. Hux and I share the same dark hair and blue eyes, but obviously our taste in the company we keep differs vastly. “What are you doing here? And why are you dancing with her?” Okay, so my brother and Mackenzie Woods have expressed an interest in one another more than once, and suffice it to say, it’s annoyed me more than once, too.

  He frowns over at me, never once missing a beat to the music.

  Why the heck does Bizzy care who I’m with? Correction, she doesn’t really care who I’m with so long as it’s not Mack. I get it. They were friends, and now they’re not for whatever reason. I have a feeling if she knew how far things have gotten with Mack and me, her head would explode.

&
nbsp; I look at him, stunned at the thought of things getting far with Mackenzie of all people. Doesn’t he realize she’s inherently evil? That she alone is the reason I have the displeasure to hack into his mind at present? Not to mention the fact she enjoys making me miserable at every turn. I bet this is just another ploy to toy with my emotions. She knows how much I love my brother.

  Mackenzie waltzes over and shimmies her body up and down Huxley as if he were a pole before shooting me a lethal glance.

  There she is with that self-righteous look on her face. I bet she’s thinking to herself how unworthy I am of her brother. I bet she thinks I’m using him to make Leo jealous. She cranes her neck past my brother and I follow her gaze to find Emmie and Leo making out next to a neon sign that reads bladder release center. As if Leo would care. It’s obvious he’s head over heels for that little nitwit. I don’t know who annoys me more these days, Bizzy or Em. Not that I care what they’re thinking. The last time I bothered to care what they thought of me was at that ridiculous Halloween party where I caught them laughing at me. But I got Bizzy back by dunking her in a barrel—not to mention I made sure to swipe every boy who even bothered to look their way. I never said I wasn’t above holding a grudge. There was a little more to it, but I’m not up for reliving it now. I’m up for doing something far more exciting.

  She pulls Hux in and lands a slobbering kiss over his mouth with so much vigor I’m half-convinced she’s about to gnaw off his face.

  Gross.

  Gag me.

  I’d rather stomp out a bag of poop on fire than watch my brother make out with anybody.

  Instead, I sway my hips into the crowd until I wiggle my way into the sweaty nexus and come upon Juni and Macy battling it out for Bates Barlow’s attention.

  Incoming. He winks my way and a nervous laugh expels from me. This one’s hotter than them both. And why does she look familiar? His shoulders bounce. I’ve probably entertained her a time or two in my trailer. With all the bourbon I’ve been plying myself with ever since we got to this blip on the map, I can hardly remember a thing.

  Great.

  I glower over at him a moment while trying my best to groove to Sinatra.