Bohemian Tragedy, page 12
I nodded, my chest tight, my eyes willing her to see I understood how hard this had been.
I didn’t find anything of consequence after she left. But just when I was about to give up, I found a piece of paper with a hand-drawn heart and a time and day on it.
Tuesday, 6:45 p.m.
I took a quick picture of it with my phone and said my goodbyes to Ivan before returning to the house. My lip was on fire and my head hurt where I’d hit it on the floor after falling down like a boneless rag doll.
Fab held out a bottle of water to me, her eyes filled with worry. “Oh, honey, look at your lip. You look like you went a round with Tyson.” She paused and shook her head. “But he liked ears, right? Never mind. Not the point. The point is, are you sure you’re okay?”
I groaned as I probed my lip with my tongue, noting it had begun to swell. “I’m fine. Really, Fab, but I think I’m finished here for today. I need some aspirin and a raw steak for my lip.”
Fab gave me a look of pure sympathy. “I can’t believe she hit you—the maniac.”
But I understood Evelyn’s position. “She’s hurt, Fab. You remember what it was like back then for me, don’t you?”
Fab sucked in her cheeks in disapproval, making her look like a chic supermodel. “Yeah. I remember. How could I forget? But I don’t remember you hitting anyone, either.”
I went back to the bedroom and scooped up my tote bag, gathering my supplies. “But remember how I wanted to?”
Fab followed me, the click of her heels reassuring on the hardwood floor. “Sure. I remember. And I also still remember you didn’t.”
When I looked out the window, I saw the sun was beginning to fade, and so was I. My bones felt like butter. “Okay, so forget the part where she hit me and let me tell you what I’ve learned since we texted this morning.”
“I’m all ears. Especially if it involves sexcapades with olive oil and cotton candy. We could learn a thing or two from Susan,” she chirped, perching on the edge of the bed.
After I told her what I’d talked about with Susan, and the full story on my ex showing up last night, I then asked about Silas’s calls to her. “Silas said he phoned you about the Pristines’ condos.”
She flapped a dismissive hand but she didn’t look at me. “He did.”
“And?”
“And I’d happily sell my soul to Beelzebub before I’d sell a condo to Silas Laithrop.”
I barked a laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me he tried to call you, Fab? Do you really think I’m still that fragile I can’t even hear his name? This could be a huge commission for you.”
“No. That’s not what I think at all, Evanora. I just never planned on calling him back, and that made his call unworthy of mentioning. I never thought he’d come here in person. Besides that, the Pristines don’t want to sell to a big corporation. You know they want to keep the beachfront safe from big developers. I don’t know how they’re going to do that, what with their cash flow problem, but they’re determined. Either way, I knew Silas was hunting for one of the corporations he represents. So I ignored him.”
I stopped putting my extra pillow covers away and leaned up against the white-washed oak dresser I’d had delivered today. “I do know the Pristines don’t want to sell to developers, but you still didn’t tell me he called, and that’s what led him to come here to pay me a personal visit.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. Never in a trillion years did I think that pig would show his face around here—not after he hasn’t spoken to you in almost a decade. He’s got some big clangers, doesn’t he?”
“I know you were just looking out for me, and I appreciate it, but I’m not that Evanora you had to drag out of bed and toss in the shower because she was immobilized by fear of poverty. He doesn’t have that kind of effect on me anymore. I can take care of myself, and I think I proved that last night when I told him not to let the door hit him where the good Lord split him.”
Fab gasped, bouncing with devilish glee on the edge of the bed. “Did you really?”
I sighed. “Not exactly. I was less abrasive. You know…dead look in my eyes, one-word answers. That kind of polite, but he got the message. Anyhoodles, here’s the point—I don’t need you to protect me from Silas, okay?”
She gave me a shy smile, tucking her sleek black hair behind her ears. “I know you don’t, and I know you’re a different woman. I’m so proud of who you are now. You know I am. You worked hard to get here. I just didn’t want to rock the boat, and seeing as I had no intention of doing business with him, I thought he’d just go away. My bad. Can you forgive me?”
I pushed off from the dresser and blew her a kiss. “Forgiven. Now, let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough staging for today. I need a hot shower, a cold pack, and some aspirin while I decide which place of business’s doorstep I should darken first. After my nail appointment, that is. Susan slammed a ton of places on Yelp with bad reviews, and I need more suspects than Ivan and Evelyn.”
Fab rose and brushed the length of her skirt to smooth the fabric. “Hold on. You’re not discounting Ivan and Evelyn the Deranged, are you?”
I hauled the tote over my shoulder and shook my head as we made our way out to the living room and my phone beeped an incoming email. “I’m not, but I also don’t think either one of them did it. I don’t know that for sure, it’s just my gut talking, but I’m pretty sure.”
Fab came up behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, let’s go. Mama just sent me one of her texts. You know, the ones that look like a drunk caveman wrote them? I think she’s making spaghetti carbonara for dinner. With, um,” she held up her phone and squinted at the text, “succulents.” Then she frowned. “That has to be sausage.”
I laughed as we made our way out the door and I locked it, putting the key in the lockbox. “Yum-yum, but first, I have a nail appointment and hopefully some clues.”
Fab gave me a strange look. “You’re getting your nails done now, when you’re in the middle of a job? I thought nails were a reward you only allowed yourself when you finish a job? Didn’t you just have them done after you finished the Fletchers’ place in Peabody?”
It’s true. When I finish a big project, I treat myself to a mani/pedi. Not every job, mind you, but at least once a month.
“I did, but this salon is one of the salons Susan gave a bad review. She said, and I quote, ‘my nails looked like a kindergartner painted them with a pack of pink crayons’. She gave reviews like that so she could get comps from them, like a free meal or a haircut.”
“She really was a winner, huh?” Fab said dryly with a shake of her head. “Do you really think one of those Yelp reviews could lead to her killer? Who kills someone over a bad review?”
I scoffed. “You’d be surprised. Anyway, I’ll be over to Mama Fab’s after I’m done, but I can’t stay long. I’ve got some research to do.”
“Yeah, yeah, Jessica Fletcher. You’ve got a crime to solve,” Fab teased, beeping open her mustang Gigi’s shiny door.
I made a face. “Look who’s talking, Miss Dateline. Did I hear you right when you said maybe Evelyn didn’t really go to London? Maybe she had Susan in some warehouse and she was torturing her all this time? Torturing her for three months, Fabiola Fabrizio? Really?”
She shook a long finger at me with a playful glance. “I blame you for that bumbling vomit of an accusation. It was you who lured me off the path of sci-fi safety and dragged me right over to Murder Lane, Evanora Dark. You put all these crazy theories and murderous thoughts in my head.”
I looked at her and then we both doubled over with laughter, until I didn’t even remember my lip was split and hurting like the dickens.
Before I got into my truck, I pulled my phone from my pocket and took a peek at my email.
There was a message from Ashton Guthrie, and it better contain that video footage of the bar on the night Susan took her selfie.
The police would catch up to him soon enough anyway. Now that the cat was out of the bag about Susan’s murder, they’d surely do exactly what I’d done and scour her social media and find him, but if I had a jump on them, with Susan in the mix to help, I might be able to solve this mess quicker than they could.
I clicked on the email, which was short and sweet.
Here’s the video from the last night I saw her. Hope you have some time on your hands to watch all of it.
Wasn’t he a funny little man? I’m fifty-three, single, live with my dogs and a stray opossum, and I talk to ghosts with the occasional big night out at mama Fab’s or via an astral projection I can’t control.
I have more time on my hands than Father Time himself.
I clicked on the video and instantly took note of the day and time.
Tuesday.
The day of the last post on Susan’s Instagram.
Interesting.
16
“Where are we going?” Susan asked as I drove through downtown Salem. She’d resurfaced when I’d called on her on the way over, sounding a bit better than she had when she’d excused herself from going through her belongings.
But she still looked ruffled, or maybe flustered was the better word.
“I have a nail appointment at Manicure Hut with Francesca. Do you remember her?”
“Nope,” she replied. Then she turned to me as I parked. “You know what’s weird about this whole death thing?”
“Gee, what could be weird about death and coming back as a ghost to haunt the woman whose husband you had an affair with, Susan?” I asked teasingly, putting my truck into park.
But she wasn’t taking the bait and she wasn’t in a joking mood. Her face was covered in concern. “I can remember all sorts of things years and years before I died, but I can only remember bits and pieces of my life just before I died. What’s that about?”
I stared out into the parking lot, the early twinkle of lights just beginning to shine. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s been my experience that when the death was traumatic, the mind has a way of blocking it out to protect you. I think that’s what happened with you.”
Susan sighed forlornly. “Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe I shouldn’t ever know what happened.”
“I can stop at any time. You know the deal.”
She swished her hand in the air. “If there’s a killer on the loose, he should be caught so he doesn’t hurt anyone else. You do what you have to do.”
“What I have to do is face the wrath of Francesca, who’s probably still smarting after that review.”
Susan held up her hand, fingers splayed. “If she did this manicure, she deserved it.”
I looked at her pink nails, glossy in the fading light, and gave her my shame-on-you face. “They look beautiful, Susan, and you know it. You wanted a free mani. That’s why you posted that review.”
Her smile was small and contrite. “That’s probably true because I do remember my usual modus operandi. I’d leave without tipping, go home and leave the establishment a poor review so they’d feel bad and give me another free manicure. I did stuff like that all the time all over Salem and parts near and far. There’s no denying I was an awful person. But you already knew that. I think I’m going to take a break from all the awful I spread around like jam on toast. Call me if you need me,” she whispered, disappearing from my truck, leaving me feeling a bit sad.
But I had a nail appointment to get to. I couldn’t afford to get all in my feelings right now. Hopping out of the truck, I locked it and headed toward the brightly lit salon.
A quick peek inside before opening the door said it was posh and marble-sleek. Long countertop sprawled along three sides of the space, with massage chairs in the middle for a relaxing pedicure.
Trendy K-pop music (I only knew it was K-pop because my son listens to it) played on the overhead sound system and three or four nail techs in white jackets were hard at work.
The receptionist, a slight young man with blue nails and heavy cologne, greeted me with a brief smile. “Welcome to Manicure Hut. Do you have an appointment?”
Smiling in return, I nodded at him. “I do—with Francesca.”
He pointed to the device on the counter. “Enter your cell number there and register. Then have a seat, she’ll be right with you.”
I did as I was told and then took a seat in one of the crisp white velvet chairs to wait for Francesca. When she approached me, I was taken by her long, lengthy beauty. When had kids gotten so dang tall? Or maybe at 5’4”, I was just short and envious.
Dark hair billowed around her shoulders and somehow, even doing nails all day, her fingernails were perfection. Long, black, and covered in glittery nail art. She was probably in her later thirties, so maybe she wasn’t so much a kid, but anyone under the age of forty felt like one to me.
“Evanora?” Francesca asked pleasantly. “Would you please follow me?” The scent of her perfume lingered in her wake, making me sneeze. Though, to her credit, she hadn’t batted an eye when she saw my fat lip.
I did as instructed, weaving my way behind her to a chair at the long table in the back and sat down. She handed me a menu of manicure items to choose from.
“So what are we up for today? Hand massage in lavender or maybe citrus? Gel nails? Solar?”
My eyeballs were about to cross at the selections available. My little salon in Buttermilk Bay was a bit less swanky and didn’t offer the number of services Manicure Hut did.
Still, I loved my nail tech back home. Janis always did me right, but then, I almost always got a simple gel manicure with no nail art or fancy fixin’s.
However, if I hoped to get any answers, that might take longer than my typical manicure. So I opted for some nail art and a eucalyptus/mint hand massage.
A half an hour later, we’d talked about almost everything under the sun. My son, my job, her job, what we binge watched on Netflix, the coming winter…and I still hadn’t broached Susan’s disappearance.
It was now or never.
“This has been really nice, Francesca.” And it really had. My hands felt like a baby’s bottom after a warm wax, and my tight, lightly arthritis-riddled fingers were looser than they’d been in a long time. Looking around the salon, I said, “I’m so glad I decided to come here. My girlfriend Susan used to come here, too.”
Francesca stiffened, her long fingers tightening around the index finger she currently filed. “Susan?” she asked, her voice shaky, but feigning innocence.
I instantly put on my sad face and sighed with a great puff of sorrow. “Oh. I forgot. I guess I’m just trying to block it out. Yes, Susan Davis. She is…was my friend, but she disappeared and the police say she’s dead because, of all things, a dog found her jawbone! It’s a big case right now. I’m sure you saw the report of her disappearance on TV.”
She lifted her chin but didn’t look at me. “I know who you mean,” was all she offered. The chatty Francesca was gone, replaced by a pinched expression and a tense posture.
Playing dumb, I let my shoulders slump. “Listen, I’d totally forgotten she gave you a bad review. Susan could be…testy sometimes. Difficult to please.”
She snorted softly and didn’t say anything, though her very red lips pursed.
However, the customer next to me was more than happy to provide her take on Susan. “I was here the day she had that manicure,” she said, as though she had a delicious secret she was dying to share.
I decided to jump into her game with both feet. I looked over at her with concerned interest on my face. “Really? Do you know when that was? I mean, how long ago that conversation happened?”
The woman shrugged, her blunt, angle-cut blonde hair swinging forward toward her face. “I’m sure the police will check the date of her appointment. I don’t remember it, honestly. But I do remember how she sat in front of Francesca and talked to her like they were girlfriends about her upcoming date with a new boyfriend, and how they were talking about moving in together, and on and on she went. Then she slapped this poor girl in the face by leaving without tipping her. I couldn’t believe it! Then to give her a bad review? Her nails looked beautiful when she left here. I’ll tell ya that much!”
Francesca sighed. Obviously, this was a touchy subject, and rightly so, but she was gracious in her response. “It’s okay, Josephine,” she soothed. “We don’t need to involve other customers in a disagreement.” Then she looked at me as if to say, gossipers will gossip. “Sometimes manicurists are like bartenders, I guess. I’ve heard plenty of life stories, believe me.”
So Susan had mentioned a new guy she might move in with? That’s what I got out of that conversation.
The woman leaned over to me when Francesca excused herself to go get her box of decals for my nails (I let her choose, and she’d decided on butterflies and fall leaves with some rhinestones). Josephine gave me a sympathetic glance, patting my hand.
“I’m sorry about your friend, honey. Everyone’s talking about it, but she was really cruel to leave and not tip Francesca for her time. And then to write that ugly review? Well, there’s no excuse.”
I think I must have said oh, Susan a hundred times since I began investigating her death, but…oh, Susan…
“Did she happen to mention who she might be moving in with? It would sure help the police, I bet. Maybe even catch the guy who did it. I mean, if it’s a guy at all.”
The woman turned back to her manicurist and shook her head. “She didn’t say his name, but it was clear she really liked him.”
When Francesca returned, her box of glittery, pretty things in hand, she looked hesitant while applying the sparkly fall leaf decals. “I have to ask…why did you decide to come to me for a manicure? I mean, after what your friend said, it’s a bit of a surprise…”
No one is more surprised than me, Francesca. No one.
I grappled for an answer. “Well, despite Susan’s review, I saw a bunch of pictures of the nails you’d done, and I had to disagree with her. I think you do beautiful work. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by bringing her up.”
