Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) (16 page)

"Can you imagine being saddled with a name like Prudence?" she shouted over the wind. "The obvious root word is
prude
." She shook her head. "You're lucky you got Cassidi."

I could have pointed out that my name rhymed with "chastity" and that men routinely called me "Butch" or "David," but I made it a policy never to divulge that information to anyone. "Okay, but what does your adoption have to do with me?"

Her eyes hardened. "I could tell from your relationship with your cousin and from the fact that your uncle left you his salon that you had the big, happy Italian family I was supposed to have. And I was envious."

I started to tell her that with divorced parents and a murdered uncle, my family was hardly happy. But I didn't want to rock the boat—that is, not any more than the storm was already doing.

The wind shifted yet again, and we listed hard to the side.

I glanced nervously at the mainsail and then at Prudence. She was staring off in the distance, seemingly unaware of the danger. In part to placate her and in part because I meant it, I said, "I really wish that you'd gotten the childhood you deserved."

She blinked, and her bottom lip quivered. "I'm going to tack."

Relief washed over me—along with a wave. I stood up and pulled the rope to release it from its cleat, and then I knelt as the boom swung over my head to the opposite side of the boat. I wrapped the rope around the winch, pulled it tight, and cleated it.

"What I didn't count on was that hairdresser of yours having a past," she continued. "When the police brought her in for the second time, I had Clyde bury the syringes beneath her window. As long as someone took the fall, I didn't care who it was."

My temper flared at her indifference, but I was careful to keep it in check. I mean, she
was
a murderer, after all. "Why did you use Barbicide?"

She gave a half smile. "I got the idea while you were cutting my bangs. You pulled a comb from that jar of Barbicide on your station, and I realized how perfect it was."

"I don't understand. How was it perfect?"

"Margaret and Jonas told my birth parents that I died right after I was born—from blue baby syndrome."

The boat rolled, as did my stomach.
So that's why she turned them blue.

Prudence doubled over, and I thought it was because of the storm. But when she straightened, she was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "The Barbicide was also funny because of the Viagra."

My head shot up. "What Viagra?"

"Didn't you figure that out?" she asked in a shrill voice. "Your uncle was running an illegal Viagra ring for my uncle."

I was so blown away by this bombshell that you could have knocked me over with a boom. "My Uncle Vinnie was Dr. Windom's drug dealer?"

"Actually, my uncle's ex-nurse, Bertha Braun, made the deliveries."

So, Bertha had been involved, albeit not in the way that I'd thought.

"They called her 'BD,' and she's the reason I'm here."

"Hold on." I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly over the flapping of the sails. "Did you say 'BD?'"

"Yeah, for
Bulldog.
"

It suddenly hit me.
BD
was code for the entire Viagra operation—blue diamond, a.k.a. Bobby Darin, and old Bulldog herself. "Are you saying that she's behind the murders?"

"Indirectly. About a year ago, my uncle announced that he couldn't pay me anymore because the insurance companies were taking a bigger cut of his profits. I paid him a surprise visit to find out what was really going on, and I discovered that he'd not only been helping Margaret make a nice little life for herself here in Danger Cove, but that he was also paying Bertha instead of me."

"Why was he doing that?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"He had to fire her after she tried to kill one of his patients, so as to not raise the suspicion of the police. When she found herself without a job, she started blackmailing him. Apparently, his sister and brother-in-law weren't the only childless couple he'd referred to his old classmate, and as his longtime nurse, Bertha had made it her business to stay apprised of the details."

Now that I finally knew the whole sordid tale, I wasn't seeing blue anymore, not even in the middle of the ocean. All I could see was red. There had been so much greed and deceit and senseless killing that it pushed me over the edge—of reason, obviously.

I clenched my fists and stood up defiantly in the storm. "Did you kill my uncle?"

Prudence opened her mouth.

I waited for the words, but none came.

Instead, she screamed.

There was a tremendous crash, and I went sailing—unfortunately, not on the boat, but through the air. Then I plunged into the icy depths of the ocean like a cannonball shot from a pirate ship.

Once I recovered from the shock, I considered surrendering to the sea. I wasn't a strong enough swimmer to survive the storm, and I knew that as soon as I came up for air, Prudence would try to shoot me. Then I remembered what I'd said to Gia—I was going to stand my ground and fight. For her and for me, I had to make good on that vow. I just wished that I had some ground to stand on.

I started kicking and clawing with all my might. When I surfaced, Pirate's Hook was right in front of me—like a mirage. I swam toward it, but waves were breaking over my head, shoving me downward and force-feeding me mouthfuls of the frigid salt water.

This was not going swimmingly.

My anxiety was near panic attack level, and there was no way to do my 5-2-5 breathing in the middle of a turbulent ocean. Just when I thought that I'd be paying a visit to Davy Jones's locker, I remembered what Zac told me about the sea lions. I relaxed as best I could in an attempt to body surf, and the waves began washing me toward the rock. But when I arrived at the flat surface beneath the hook, my teeth were chattering, and my limbs were numb. There was no way I could make the climb up the slick side.

I floated further down the formation, desperate to find a way up. Finally, I got a foothold on some jutting rocks and pulled myself onto the platform. I collapsed on my stomach, shaking and gulping air in a daze.

Before I understood what was happening, an octopus wrapped itself around my neck and began to squeeze. I reached for the tentacles to free myself from its powerful grasp.

But they were fingers.

"You thought you were going to get away, didn't you?" Prudence snarled in my ear.

Terror flooded through me. I couldn't speak, because she was crushing my esophagus. I tried hitting her injured wrist, but she didn't let up.

She was too full of rage.

And I was suffocating.

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
Was this the end?

As though in reply, a massive wave swept over the rock. It propelled me against the base of the hook where I clung for my life. But it lifted Prudence and thrust her into the point of the hook with such force that a piece of rock broke from the tip.

She washed out to sea.

Frantic, I scanned the area for Prudence. There was no sign of her in the water, so I looked up at the hook. A gleam of light caught my eye. I thought that I was seeing stars, but then I realized that there was only one. And it didn't sparkle—it glinted, like the sun peeking through the clouds. I wanted to reach out and grab that sun and pull its warmth to me. So I did. And I put it in my coat pocket.

Then the world went dark.

A fishtail was flapping against my face.

One of these days I was going to have a talk with that Filly Filipuzzi. I mean, it was one thing for his fish to take over my Dumpster, but it was entirely another for them to invade my house.

"Cassidi," a husky, male voice called. "Wake up."

I turned over, wanting to sleep a little longer. Then it registered that Zac was the one telling me to get up—and patting my cheek with his hand. But hang on.
Were we in bed together?
I'd pegged him as a smooth talker, but you'd think that I would've remembered him talking me into this.

Zac gently rolled me onto my back and cradled the back of my neck in his strong hand.

It was heaven. I felt so warm and protected.

His lips touched mine, and he…pinched my nose and started to blow?

My eyes fluttered open. The first thing I saw was Zac giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and then I noticed the point of Pirate's Hook looming over his head. The realization of where I was and what had happened came flooding back to me like a geyser.

I pushed Zac away and started coughing up water. After regurgitating a quart or two, I laid back on the jacket he'd placed beneath me. If there had been a chance of us getting together, I figured that my H2O heave-ho might've just put a damper on his interest.

"Cass," he breathed. His eyes were bright with relief and something that looked suspiciously like tenderness. "You're safe now, and help is on the way."

"But how did you—"

He put a finger to my lips. "My client, Dan, told my boss and me that he'd seen a blonde in a yellow trench coat being abducted at gunpoint on a sailboat. I knew it had to be you."

Okay, so in retrospect, yellow wasn't exactly an ideal color for spywear. But hey, it wasn't a Catwoman suit.

"Here comes the Coast Guard," a deep voice shouted.

I turned my head and saw the sailboat that Zac had been preparing to show anchored beside the rock with a tall, forty-something male aboard.

Zac caressed my cheek. "We're going to get you to the hospital to make sure you're all right."

"No. I'm fine." I tried to prop myself up on my elbows but was waylaid by a wave of dizziness.

He wrapped his powerful arms around me and eased me back onto his jacket. After smoothing my wet, tangled hair from my face, he kissed me—on the forehead.

I opened my mouth to tell him about the sun in my pocket, but I puked up another quart of water. And maybe a small fish.

Then everything went black again.

*   *   *

"Look who's awake," the matronly nurse said as she flung open the blinds.

The morning sun sliced into my eyes like a scalpel, so I pulled the covers over my head.

"How you feeling?" she asked.

Before I could tell her that my head hurt, I was starving, and I needed an IV of espresso, she threw back the blanket and stuck a thermometer under my tongue.

"Your concussion was mild," she explained as she adjusted a bobby pin in her gray, upswept hair, "so I'm sure the doctor will release you today. As soon as he gives me the go ahead, I'll start the paperwork."

She grabbed my wrist and fell silent as she took my pulse.

There was a knock at the door, and Detective Ohlsen entered with Detective Marshall in tow.

My heart rate sped up at the mere sight of them.

Detective Ohlsen approached the bed and snuck a sideways glance at the no-nonsense nurse. "How's the patient doing, Wanda?"

"Fine until you two walked in the room." She tossed my arm on the bed. "Then her blood pressure spiked."

Tattletale
. I slid deeper into the sheets.

Detective Ohlsen bowed his head and clasped his hands behind his back. "Mind if we have a word with her?"

"I do, but it's visiting hours, so I don't have a say." She shook a patient file at him. "But don't you tire her out, Bud. You hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave him the eagle eye and strode from the room.

"Nice manners," Detective Marshall—the king of courtesy—commented.

Detective Ohlsen and I shared a secret smile, and then he put his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"After getting your note from Officer Stallone yesterday," he began with a stern stare, "I was on my way to arrest you. It was the only way I had to protect you from yourself. But then the call came in about an abduction down at the docks."

"I guess you're here to find out why it was me," I said, hoping to steer their thoughts away from the little matter of my impending arrest.

"Oh, we know," Detective Marshall said, sticking out his chest. "We spent most of the night interrogating Prudence and Clyde."

I bolted upright and searched Detective Ohlsen's face for confirmation. "They survived?"

He nodded. "The boat was in bad shape, but the Coast Guard found Clyde still tied up inside. They picked up Prudence a few minutes later clinging to a tree trunk."

I remembered the crash that had sent me flying. "I wonder if that's what knocked me off the boat."

Detective Ohlsen jutted out his lower lip. "Could be. The starboard side of the boat looked like it'd been hit by something pretty big around."

The memory of just how close I'd come to death made my mouth go dry. I reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table and caught sight of my arms. They were so covered with scratches and marks that they reminded me of Bertha's threat to make a skin quilt from Margaret. "Did Prudence tell you about Bertha Braun during the interrogation?"

"She did," Detective Ohlsen replied as he sunk into an armchair next to my bed. "But we already had our eye on her as a possible connection to the Viagra ring. She was Coveside Retirement Resort's most frequent visitor."

I might be a regular too if Santiago didn't live there.

Detective Marshall raised a clenched fist. "Now we finally have a witness who can testify to her involvement, so we can put her away where she belongs."

"Is Bertha in custody?" I asked in a hopeful tone.

He gave a self-satisfied smile. "We picked her up this morning."

Relief washed over me. Even though my skin was all battered and bruised, it was nice to know I'd be keeping it—at least until Bertha got out of prison. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that. She had a score to settle with me."

"Bertha had a score to settle with a lot of people," Detective Ohlsen said. "And yet she never uttered a word about the adoption ring."

"Because her blackmail scheme would've come to light," I said wryly.

"I'm sure that's why." He rubbed his eyes. "She didn't know that Prudence was Dr. Windom's niece though. Apparently, he'd always referred to her as 'Rue.'"

That name was much more fitting, as far as I was concerned.

"However," he continued, "Bertha did say that your cousin told her Prudence was on leave from a hospital in LA. But when we'd talked to Prudence the day before, she said she was unemployed. We did a little digging and discovered that her last job was at a hospital in Jackson, and that's when I started to wonder if you might've been onto something with that syringe wrapper. Of course, it wasn't until I got your note that it all finally made sense."

I beamed like the morning sun. I'd done a pretty good job of sleuthing, apart from my near burial at sea, and I'd made good on my promise to Lucy. "Does this mean—"

"The charges have been dropped against Miss O'Connell," Detective Marshall interrupted in a bored tone.

Now I was full-on blazing, but I knew that there was still one more thing to make right. "What about the Bible?"

Detective Ohlsen scratched his head. "Oddly enough, Clyde was the one who asked the Coast Guard to retrieve that Bible from the boat. We'll be turning it over to the authorities in Jackson for follow-up."

I leaned back in bed, content. It looked like Clyde had a conscience, after all.

Wanda appeared in the doorway, and I was sorry to see that she wasn't holding a coffeepot or a food tray.

"The doctor is on his way." She put one hand on her hip and gestured toward the hallway with the other. "It's time for you two to scoot."

"Wanda's right, Lester," Detective Ohlsen said as he rose to his feet. "We need to let Miss Conti rest."

"Before you go, there's one last thing I need to know." I swallowed and picked at a thread hanging from the sheet. It was harder to pose the question than I'd imagined. "Did Prudence kill my uncle?"

Detective Ohlsen put his hands on his hips. "She says she didn't, and I believe her."

"Why?" I exclaimed. "She's a cold-blooded murderer."

"Well, for one thing," he began, "we haven't ruled out the possibility that your uncle's death was connected to the Viagra. And based on the phone activity his receptionist reported, we have reason to believe that he was involved in at least one other illicit activity that could have been a factor in his demise."

I gaped at him, dumbstruck. My family had been wrong about my uncle. He was no black sheep—he was a Tasmanian devil. "What else could he have possibly been doing?"

"That's classified." His face grew serious. "The other reason I think she's telling the truth is that she voluntarily confessed to smothering the doctor who'd delivered her, Jonas Thorpe, when he was hospitalized for a stroke."

I couldn't believe my ears. "But, the papers said he died from that stroke."

"That's what the medical examiner thought too," Detective Ohlsen said. "So, if she confessed to Dr. Thorpe's murder, then I feel confident that she would've admitted to killing your uncle if she'd done it."

"I agree," I whispered, still in shock.

Detective Ohlsen headed for the door. "We need to get back to the station now. Would you like for me to send an officer to escort you home?"

The mention of home seemed surreal, like I'd been away on a long journey. And then I realized something—besides the fact that Detective Ohlsen had basically just given me a "Get out of Jail Free" card—no one was here waiting for me.

"I've got the ride covered, Detective," Zac announced from the doorway.

I turned to look at him, and my stomach did a flip—in part because he was holding a to-go bag from The Apple Tree.

Zac winked and raised what looked like a double espresso from Carolyn's.

And I thought that he'd never looked more heroic.

*   *   *

"What's going on?" I asked as Zac turned onto Fletcher Way. The short street was lined with cars.

He slowed the Jeep to a crawl. "I don't know, but there's no place to park in front of the salon, and the parking lot looks full too."

"I'll bet Filly's having another fish fry," I said, getting steamed. "If he told his clients to use my lot again, I'm going to gut him and stuff him like a flounder."

Zac cast a concerned glance my way.

"Pull around back and park behind the Ferrari."

As he turned into the lot, I thought I saw an orange bodybuilder wearing eyeliner, a gold armband, and a wraparound skirt enter the back door.

I sat very still for a moment and then turned to Zac. "Did you see that?"

He turned off the ignition. "What?"

"Never mind." I rubbed my eyes and wondered whether it was normal to hallucinate from a concussion.

Zac hopped out of the car and opened my door.

As soon as my feet touched the ground, I heard Steve Martin's "King Tut" blaring on a stereo. My lips and fists curled. "I'll sacrifice her to the gods. That's what I'll do."

"Who?" Zac asked, looking alarmed.

I pushed past him and burst through the break room into the salon. And then I was knocked out—not literally, but figuratively. The Clip and Sip had been transformed into ancient Alexandria—Gia's version, that is. The walls were draped in shimmering gold fabric with pictures of pyramids and Egyptian symbols everywhere. There was even a mannequin wrapped like a mummy and a long cardboard box that had been painted like a sarcophagus.

Even more surprising, the salon was jam-packed. The lobby was standing room only, and all six of the salon chairs were filled. And the orange spray-tanned guy that I thought I'd hallucinated was going around fanning women with a Swiffer duster extender and feeding them grapes, figs, and cheese—from his hands.

Gia was the first to notice me. "Cass!" She engulfed me in a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay. I hope you don't mind that I didn't come to the hospital to pick you up. It's just that the response to the Queen of the Nile promotion has been so overwhelming."

"Are you kidding?" I exclaimed. "I'm thrilled."

"We're booked solid for the rest of the week, and the phone is ringing off the hook. I had to hire a temporary receptionist and stylists to fill the empty stations."

I threw my arms around her. "I'm so sorry I ever doubted you."