Southern Poison (11 page)

“Let’s get out of here,” John said.

“No argument from me.”

We walked the rest of the way to my car and once there, he gave me a strange look that I couldn’t quite read. “Feel like a drink or a cup of coffee somewhere? Might catch some live music.”

Anything to keep me from envisioning Ox and Louise together, and feeling sorry for myself. I’d never been jealous of a woman with Ox before. Not ever. But that was before I’d given in to my cravings and slept with the man. And, Louise was different. He had a history with her. The thought of Ox planning a future with the woman was something I wouldn’t allow myself to consider. The more I thought about it, the better an after-dinner drink sounded.

“That works for me.”

I rode with him to the Rusty Nail, where we sipped coffees laden with Godiva chocolate liqueur and took in some live jazz music. When the clock approached midnight, he drove me back to my car and kissed me on the lips. It was a quick kiss, one that stopped before I had a chance to think about it. Or protest.

“We should go out again,” he said. “I had a great time.”

“It was a lot of fun,” I said, realizing I’d only thought of Ox and Louise once. Or maybe twice. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

I stepped into the X5. “See you around.” I drove to the Block, taking several unnecessary turns to ensure that he wasn’t following. Just because I was starting to like the AJAT Security worker didn’t mean that I could let my guard down. I had a job to do, and gleaning information from knowledgeable sources was simply part of the deal.

High school classes
started in two days, on Monday, and Lindsey’s life was jam-packed. Ox and Louise agreed to let her contract with Derma-Zing and, with help from Spud—self-appointed agent—had negotiated the fee up to an even eighteen thousand dollars. The advertising brains decided on a “down-to-earth real look with jazzed-up graphics” for both the print ads and the television spots. They’d also decided not to use a studio, opting instead for several Wilmington locations, including the riverwalk, the Cape Fear Run bicycle route, and the Block.

Holloman, or Doc, as Lindsey called him, had joined us at my bar to watch a video shoot, and we’d taken a break for lunch. Between his efficient-looking associate, Ox, the media project director, the creative people with lighting and camera equipment, and the extras—teenagers from a local modeling agency with parents in tow—we had a big crowd. Louise—who’d just breezed in fashionably late—added to our number. Only Spud and his poker group were absent because they’d gone shopping, or so they said.

As she professionally schmoozed her way through the crowd, I studied Lindsey’s mother. She was a beautiful woman, in a very well-kept sort of way. I recognized the sexy poof of an injected upper lip because I used to have one just like it, back when Uncle Sam was paying for it. I also recognized the store-boughts. They accented her full, curvy hips very nicely. But Louise had much more: flawless tanning-bed tan, styled short blond hair without an iota of dark roots showing, laser-whitened teeth, California-casual bead-trimmed outfit, and a surgically lifted face that caused the corners of her mouth to upturn just a fraction. She caught me looking and headed my way.

“Jersey, it’s great to see finally see you,” she said.

It was? I hadn’t seen her in person for years, and then, she’d all but glared at me.

“You look terrific,” she added.

I was wearing torn jeans and a T-shirt baggy enough to conceal the weapon in my paddle holster. “Thanks, Louise. You look great yourself.”

She tucked some hair behind her pierced ears, probably so I could get a better look at the huge emerald-cut diamonds clinging to each lobe. “Lindsey tells me that she really loves Wilmington and that you guys have been having a lot of fun together.”

That was true. “She’s a great kid.”

We were sizing each other up when Louise looked down and screamed. She moved in place for a moment, tiny little feet doing their own version of an Irish step dance. “Eeeow!”

A tiny green lizard had found its way into the Block and appeared to be darting toward an exit.

Ox was there in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

Louise pointed at the retreating offender, but was too panicked to speak.

“Just a lizard taking a shortcut through our bar,” I explained.

Ox rubbed his ex’s back, between her shoulder blades. “It’s okay, Louise. It’s gone now.”

I shut my eyes for a long second to keep from rolling them.

“She’s petrified of bugs and such,” Ox explained.

Puhlleeeze. “Lizards
eat
bugs, Louise.”

She cocked her head like a poodle recognizing its name. “They do? Really?”

“Really.” I pointed at an insect that existed solely in my imagination. “Just like that spider over there. Spiders are like filet mignon to a lizard.”

She spun around and did the dance again. “Eeeow!”

Trying to hold in a smile, I excused myself and left Ox to comfort her.

Once everyone settled in, our group occupied five square tables, pushed together, and I’d asked Ruby to keep the finger foods and fresh fruit coming. Drinks being consumed ranged from black coffee to straight vodka. It was an eclectic gathering but all the fuss centered around Lindsey and she beamed like a true headliner. Louise recovered from the lizard incident and returned to flutter around like an annoying helicopter mom, but Ox hung back and watched the activity with an amused twist to his mouth. Earlier, he and I had spoken about the Block, a problem with one of the employees, and his daughter’s newfound fame, but something tangible had slithered between us. Not to mention that I couldn’t get the vision of him rubbing his ex’s back out of my mind. Before my thoughts could worm their way to the corner of my cerebrum, where I’d corralled all emotions concerning Ox, I tuned in to the conversation flowing around me.

“Have you considered expanding your target market for Derma-Zing?” the project director was saying to Holloman. “I ask because the possibilities for marketing to a wider consumer base are out there.”

“Such as?”

“Well, take for example the Harley-Davidson bikers. Several
hundred thousand
riders attend weeklong rallies every year in cities across the country, such as Sturgis, South Dakota, and Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. You could work out a licensing deal with Harley-Davidson to sell a stencil kit of their logos, with tubes of Derma-Zing in black and Harley orange.”

Lindsey spat out a sigh of revulsion. “Oh, gross!”

“Why gross?” the agency gal said.

“You don’t have teenagers, do you?” I asked the woman. “See, the quickest way to turn a teenager against anything they consider way cool is to have them see the same thing on an ’old’ person.”

“Hello?” Lindsey added. “Derma-Zing on some scraggly, tattooed biker dude who’s like, fifty or something, with a beer gut hanging over his belt? I don’t think so.”

Two golf ball—sized circles of pink appeared on the woman’s cheeks and Holloman laughed. “Not only is our spokesperson a beauty with a unique personality, but she’s got marketing savvy, too.”

“The stencil idea may have some merit, though.” I finished a peeled shrimp and washed it down with a gulp of Carolina Blonde, a tasty light ale brewed in Mooresville, North Carolina. “What if you offered stencil kits to all the major universities that have strong athletic programs? The students could logo each other before a big game.”

“Hmm. I want to keep my target market relatively tight, from teenage girls to those in their young twenties,” Holloman said. “So the college thing could work.”

The entire table looked at Lindsey, awaiting her reaction.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, education is in, you know? I’m going to college. For that matter, most high school girls want to look like college girls, and can’t wait to date an older, college-aged guy.”

Ox drew his daughter’s attention with narrowed eyes.

“Not me, Dad. I said
most
girls. I’m sick of boys, period. Trust me, I’d rather spend Friday nights with Cracker than go out on a date with a guy. At least I don’t have to listen to the dog talk about himself all night.”

That drew a collective laugh and the project director regained her composure. She clapped her hands. “Well, let’s finish this shoot and we can talk about the college market later. You ready, Lindsey? Let Mary have a swipe at you with the makeup brushes, and we’re ready to go. Guys? Crew? Extras?” she called.

There was a bustle of activity as a variety of bright portable lights were switched on, two studio cameras were locked into tripods attached to rolling dollies, and all traces of alcoholic beverages, clutter, and beer signage were cleared from the background. A smattering of laid-back locals and a few wide-eyed tourists were content to enjoy their food and beverages in the half of the Block that wasn’t cordoned off. Wilmington is home to EUE Screen Gems Studio and is the country’s third largest film and television production site, so it’s not uncommon to spot film crews or celebrities. But you can always tell a tourist from a local, because a tourist will request autographs from anyone placed in front of a studio camera. Locals don’t get too excited until they see the likes of a genuine big-screen star.

Ox found me sitting at a corner bistro table, where I’d attempted to move out of the way.

“We should get some photographs of this shoot for our wall of fame and shame,” he said. “Maybe I’ll give the camera to one of the regulars and ask them to do it.”

“Sure, good idea.”

“Lindsey said you got in late last night,” he said. “She and Spud played cards until after eleven and you still weren’t back. Is everything okay?”

“Just out on a date,” I said. “Figure I may as well have a little fun while I’m gathering information.”

Ox’s face hardened. “Anyone I know?”

Did I detect jealousy? As if he had a right to be jealous.

“Doubtful,” I said. “Just somebody who works at Sunny Point.”

“You learn anything new?”

“Not really.”

He took my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. “Please don’t shut me out, Jersey.”

“I’m not shutting you out. I’m just staying out of the way while you figure things out with your ex. Besides, between SWEET and Spud and Lindsey, I’m staying pretty busy.”

“Any developments at MOTSU?”

“No.”

“How’d it go with Lady Lizzy?”

“Fine.”

“Ashton keeping you on the roach coach?”

“Far as I know.”

With a heavy sigh, he strolled off. Of course I’d shut him out, but I couldn’t help it. We never should have had sex. Especially not extraordinary, minds-on, addictive sex. Two indulgent hours had changed everything and so far, it wasn’t for the better.

In honor of
Lindsey’s first day back to school, Ox cooked everyone an early breakfast of eggs and waffles at the Block, after which he and Louise planned to drive Lindsey to New Hanover High. Louise, blond hair gelled and blown-dry into a sassy poof around her face, spent most of the meal poring through real estate magazines rather than celebrating Lindsey’s new status as a high school senior. Spud asked if she planned to buy property in Wilmington and Louise said something about Ox needing a bigger place. If Ox wanted to get back with his ex and move into a new house, then I was all for it. But I sure as heck didn’t have to listen to the details. I thanked Ox for breakfast and made my escape.

Other than getting a late start on the roach coach, it turned out to be a relaxing day and I found myself enjoying the camaraderie as I fed drive-ups, even though there was a lot of conversation about Mama Jean’s death. Some regulars had seen the obituary and word of mouth spread the news to most everyone who knew her. As it turned out, she didn’t have children or a husband, and had willed
her estate to local charities. When it was time to close shop, I called Ashton.

After determining I’d called from the truck, he immediately called me back on a secure line that fed through my onboard laptop computer. I plugged in a headset and we did the secret code pleasantries to ensure him that I was indeed alone.

“Can you take another look at John Mason?” I said.

“Talk to me.”

“We had dinner the other night, and while he is both pleasant and quite handsome, I’ve picked up on a few inconsistencies. Nothing major, but the more I think about it, the more I realize you might want to check it out.”

“Go on.”

John said he asked for the temp agency’s phone number from Mama Jean because he needed work done at his condo, I told Ashton. But John’s address on file belonged to a four-bedroom home on seven acres, according to the tax records. He didn’t have a condo, unless he’d rented one somewhere. And why would someone pay to have work done on a rental? They wouldn’t. Furthermore, I said, John totally clammed up when I asked about his family. Unlike most men, he refused to talk about himself. Plus, there was the whole business of John asking who I really worked for. When I finished telling my handler of my suspicions, I asked about Mama Jean’s autopsy results.

“She was asphyxiated. Some bruises appeared that weren’t there when we first viewed the scene—consistent with a struggle—and there were petechia hemorrhages in the eyes, face, and lungs. Time of death is estimated to be about four o’clock in the afternoon, day before the neighbor found her. I saw her around one thirty the day she died, when I brought her the week’s deposit. In any event, forensics is going back over her condo, inch by inch. I suppose you want to see the report and autopsy photos?”

“Might trigger something,” I said. “I’ve had a lot of conversations with a lot of customers about Mama Jean.”

“I’ll send a courier to the Block.”

“Thanks. You find any flowers in her place?” I asked.

“Of course. Eight arrangements of cut flowers and three green plants, all with the note cards still attached. Made a list of the names and we’re following up with each of the well-wishers.”

“John’s name on that list?”

“Negative,” Ashton said.

“He told me that he’d gone to see Mama Jean to bring her flowers. That’s supposedly when he asked how she came to hire me.”