Little Shop of Homicide (9 page)

“So then you and Joelle were both interested in this Noah character?” Jake flashed her a mock scowl, released her hand, and grabbed his beer. “Should I be jealous?”

“Well”—Anya fluttered her lashes—“that depends. What do you do for a living?”

“Right now I’m working on a cattle ranch.” Jake winked. “After that, who knows?”

“Yeah.” Anya sighed. “That’s what I thought. Hunky guys are almost always underemployed.”

“Except for Noah?”

She nodded. “He’s a doctor.”

“I guess that means I don’t have a chance.” Jake gave her a mock scowl. “Since you’d probably like to be Mrs. Doctor Noah?”

“Maybe. Successful men in this town are at a premium, so now that Joelle is gone…” She trailed off, then seemed to catch herself, and her tone became defensive. “But never when she was alive. That wouldn’t be nice or honest.”

“And I’m sure you’re always nice.” Jake grinned, then asked, “How about Joelle? Was she always nice and honest?”

“As if.” Anya adjusted the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. “You didn’t want to cross her. And she was real secretive.”

“In what way?”

“For one thing, she never wanted anyone in her condo, while the rest of us girls always showed each other our inner souls.”

“Inner souls?”

“Our closets.” Anya gave a high-pitched laugh and whapped Jake on the biceps with the back of her hand. “Silly boy. Did you think we belonged to a cult?”

Jake forced a chuckle. “So you were never inside Joelle’s place?”

“She never invited me or Gwen—Gwen is my other best friend, the one who didn’t have time to join us.”

“I see.” Jake noticed that Anya had avoided a direct answer, but he didn’t press her. Instead he asked, “Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Joelle, besides her fiancé’s ex? Does someone gain a lot of money from her death, or did anyone hold her responsible for something bad that happened to them?”

“Hey.” Anya narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking me all these questions about Joelle and the murder?”

“No reason.” Jake twitched his shoulders. “What would you like to talk about, darlin’?”

“Hooking up later on?”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.” Jake stalled, considering whether it would be worthwhile to romance Anya any further. She was clearly growing suspicious or bored or both with the topic of Joelle, and he had only one more question, so he asked bluntly, “Where were you Saturday night?”

“It was Valentine’s Day weekend, wasn’t it?” Anya’s tone was playful, but her expression was hard to read. “Where do you think I was?”

Jake shrugged.

“With a man, of course.” Anya reached in her purse and reapplied her lip gloss. “That’s where I am every Saturday night. You could have been the lucky guy this Saturday night, but I have a feeling that’s not what you were looking for after all.”

“S
weet Jesus!” Gran stared at me with equal measures of incredulity and concern. “You’re going to a CDM party?”

“Yes.” I continued to flick hangers back and forth in my closet. “Boone and I are going to gang up on Nadine Underwood and force her to tell us everything she knows about Joelle Ayers.”

“But you swore you’d never have anything to do with that, that… uh…”

“Crowd?”

Gran nodded, smoothing her psychedelic print culottes. Her fashion sense was eclectic—one day she might dress like Jackie Kennedy, the next like a hippie love child. “So why are you going?”

“I was sixteen and the board had just told me I couldn’t attend the Initiate Ball because they didn’t want a murderer’s daughter as a member.” Besides pressuring her son to break up with me, Nadine had made sure that I was ostracized by all the social groups of which I would have normally been a part.

“You were devastated.” Gran tilted her head, then quickly straightened it, the gesture that had earned her the name Birdie.

“Yep.” It was hard to deny the truth. “But I’m not
supporting them in any way, shape, or form. I’m using a free ticket. I’ll eat their food, drink their booze, and ruffle Nadine’s feathers a little. Sounds like the perfect evening to me.”

“In that case, go to it and don’t take any prisoners.”

“That’s the plan.”

“So what did you think of Tony’s grandnephew?” Gran’s tone was casual, but I detected a matchmaking gleam in her eye.

“He seems competent.” I kept my voice indifferent. “His law enforcement contacts should be useful.”

“True.” She pursed her lips. “What does he look like? I remember thinking he was handsome the few times I saw him in town with Tony when he was a teenager. But that’s been a while.”

“I didn’t really notice.” I cringed at my bald-faced lie and waited for the lightning bolt from heaven to strike me dead for fibbing to my grandma.

“Oh.” She shot me a disbelieving look before heading back to her TV program. Banshee followed at her heels, releasing a cloud of noxious gas just before he exited my room.

Once she was gone, I hurried into the bathroom, clutching the plain brown paper bag I had brought home with me. Reassuring myself that I wasn’t doing this just because Jake had phoned to say he’d drop by when I got home from the CDM party, I opened the cold wax kit.

I admit it had been a long time since I’d shaved. Poppy’s shih tzu had less hair on his legs than I did on mine. But, come on, why bother if all you wear is jeans and no one sees you naked?

The instructions recommended rubbing the strips together in your hand to soften them, but being the overachiever I am, I thought using my hair dryer to melt the wax would be a better plan. And it was, if you think applying 2,500-degree molten lava to your inner thigh is a good idea.

Okay, that was a bit more painful than I’d expected,
but it really worked. My skin was baby smooth. Once I had denuded the rest of my lower extremities, I moved north. Shimmying out of my underwear, I drop-kicked them into the hamper and put my foot on the closed toilet lid.

Selecting an extra long strip, I heated it up, placed it along my bikini line, and continued south.
Hmm.
Was this really necessary? Before I could talk myself out of it, I yanked.

It was a good thing I had Pink blaring from the iPod speakers so Gran couldn’t hear me scream, because everything went red, literally. Although my vision was affected for only a couple of seconds, I was pretty sure my flesh would be crimson until Easter.

Practicing what my yoga teacher had taught me before I couldn’t afford to take the class anymore, I managed to breathe through the pain. Then I realized I had to do the other side. Now I remembered why I didn’t date.

Since I had stopped working in the city, it usually took me ten minutes, sometimes less, to dress in the morning. Not tonight. I seemed to have forgotten how to put on not only pantyhose but also mascara. Three pair of ruined hose and a couple of eye stabs later, I was good to go. Except for my hair.

It’s long, thick, and naturally curly, which sounds good in theory but really means it’s hard to style. Keeping an eye on the clock, I wrestled with the flatiron until I heard the doorbell.

“Wow!” Boone’s eyes widened when I answered the door. “You clean up nice.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You should do it more often.”

“Gee, thanks.” I tugged at the lace-edged sweetheart neckline of my black silk dress. “Can we just get this over with?”

“What’s your hurry?” Boone helped me on with my coat. “Got a hot date afterward?”

“How did you know?” I pushed him out over the threshold, herded him toward his car, and got in. “Brad Pitt is coming over at midnight. He’s dumping Angelina for me.”

“That’s quite an imagination you have there.” Boone snickered, then turned the big Mercedes around and headed down the lane toward the main road.

The Lee estate was on the other side of town from my family’s property. While Boone drove, he and I discussed what was new in town. Along with the St. Onges and the Underwoods, the Sinclairs had been among the five founding families of Shadow Bend. Although I was a little ambivalent about some of its citizens, I loved all the parts of my town. From Marie’s Unique Boutique to the Clementine auction house, and from the John Deere dealership to the pawnshop, it was my home. But I had to admit I was excited to hear that a Chinese restaurant had opened. Until now, the only culinary adventure available to us had been the pulled-pork wagon parked out at the Votta greenhouse.

When we arrived at our destination, we found the outside of the mansion lit up like a movie set. And although the place clearly needed a lot of renovation, the sweeping steps, white columns, and wide porch made an impressive sight. A valet helped me out of the car and handed me over to Boone. I wondered if both men really thought I was incapable of exiting a vehicle and walking into a building without assistance.

As we entered the grand foyer, we found the head honchettes of the CDM arranged at the foot of the curving staircase greeting their guests. After we surrendered our coats to the maid standing near the entrance, Boone steered me away from the receiving line and into the huge ballroom.

“I thought we wanted to talk to Nadine.” I tried to turn back, but his hand gripped my arm. “She was right there. Didn’t you see her?”

“Patience, darling.” Boone smiled at the white-gloved
waiter offering us a selection of drinks. “Enjoy the hospitality.”

I looked around at the expensive liquor being poured and the costly hors d’oeuvres being passed, and felt slightly nauseated. Considering that most of the citizens of Shadow Bend were struggling to survive the dip in the economy, this overindulgence seemed obscene. Not to mention a bit hypocritical.

Motioning to the excess, I hissed in Boone’s ear, “Isn’t the purpose of the evening supposed to be to raise money, not spend it?”

Without moving his lips, he said, “You have to take events like this with a grain of salt.” Nodding and smiling at the crowd, he added, “And I’ve found adding a slice of lime and shot of tequila helps as well.”

In my previous life, when I had routinely attended similar fund-raisers, I often wondered why the committee didn’t just give the charity the cash they spent on the elaborate parties instead of soliciting donations. My only guess was if they did that, they wouldn’t be able to display their generosity in such a public manner.

“When are we going to talk to Nadine?” I tugged on Boone’s jacket sleeve. “I just want to get this over with and leave.”

“We need to catch her alone.” Boone selected a martini from the server’s silver tray.

“Oh.” I took a cosmopolitan, allowing the man finally to move on. “Any idea how we do that?”

“Mingle.” Boone headed toward a cluster of thirtysomething professionals I recognized from around town. “And once everyone arrives, keep an eye out for Nadine.”

“That should be pretty easy.” I followed after him. “You know milady will make a grand entrance into the ballroom once she’s through with the receiving line.”

As we traveled from group to group, I was surprised that Joelle’s murder was not a more prominent topic of conversation. After all, she’d been engaged to the son of
the CDM’s president. Granted, a few people mentioned Noah’s absence due to her death, but no one pursued the matter or seemed all that broken up about her demise.

An endless supply of servers wove their way through the crowd with silver trays laden with exotic goodies, and I had just stuffed a caviar blini into my mouth when Nadine flounced into the room. She wore a stunning gray chiffon gown edged in crystal beading and delicate platinum satin sandals with heels higher than I would have ever dared attempt.

Everyone hushed as she took a microphone and tapped it for attention. “Welcome to the Lee Mansion, a glorious reminder of our past that must be preserved at all costs.”

Her gaze swept the assemblage, and Boone moved so that I was out of her sightline. He kept a wary eye on our hostess and dropped his voice. “I’m going to persuade Nadine to accompany me to the parlor for a private chat. Give me five minutes, then burst in.”

“Gotcha.”

A few moments later she finished her speech and Boone glided up to her. I watched Nadine’s lashes flutter and heard her trilling laughter as he kissed her hand. Considering that Boone was my age and she was in her early seventies—she had been over forty when she finally produced an Underwood heir—I found her behavior a bit disconcerting. Then again, no one would look twice if an older man flirted with a woman thirty years his junior, so I tried not to judge her too harshly.

Intercepting a passing waiter, I grabbed another cosmo and used the time Boone had told me to wait to gulp it down. After checking my watch, and with the liquid courage burning through my veins, I marched out of the ballroom and headed toward the parlor.

The antique furniture was in desperate need of refurbishing, but the graceful lines and perfect proportions were a reminder of how spectacular the pieces had been
in their heyday. Which, in a way, was also true of Nadine. She had been a beauty, but years of sun worship and bitterness had taken their toll.

Boone and Nadine were seated on a divan placed at a right angle from the open archway. As I hesitated, I saw her clawlike hand pat Boone’s knee while the pleats of skin on her face rearranged themselves as she talked.