CHAPTER TWO

“Dooley!” Jimmy cried, gaping down at the slight, curled-up form in the busted keg.

We all looked down at the curly-haired Jimmy look-alike. Apart from a neat hole through his bloody skull, and blond eyebrows instead of black, he was a replica of the Skink.

“You know this guy?” Jock had jogged down the stairs and was standing beside Jimmy.

“Yeah, dude.” Jimmy winced. “Like, Dooley’s my first cousin.”

“How the heck did he wind up dead in a wooden barrel?” Phyllis asked.

Jimmy shrugged, the world on his shoulders. “Beats me, dudette.”

“Did he…um, shoot himself?” Max held back a breath like he didn’t want to know the answer to that.

Jock examined the broken drum. “No gun in sight.”

Max let out a whew that it wasn’t suicide, though it didn’t make anything better. We all took a few moments to offer Jimmy condolences and regain composure. Except Jock. He was dialing the police.

“How’d your cousin even get in the restaurant?” Max asked.

“Fair question, dude.” Jimmy’s black eyebrows creased into a frown. “Dooley was going to be my cook.”

He exhaled, looking off into the distance. “When we were kids, Dools loved playing chef. He was always in the kitchen, creating a huge meatball sub or homemade onion rings or chocolate mousse cake.” His gaze swung back to us. “He’d moved to New York as a teen but came back and was here last night, working on the menus. Said he’d shut everything off when he was done. So I locked the door behind me, played a few hands of poker with some buddies, then went home.” He hung his head and rubbed his face, holding back the emotions. “I should’ve stayed, man. Dooley was the best cousin I had, and I wasn’t here for him.”

I controlled the nausea in my stomach at seeing another corpse and wrapped my arm around his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. Sounds like you were close. He even looked like you.”

Max and Phyllis agreed, muttering similar remarks.

“Well, I’m out of here.” Phyllis backed up to the door. “Nothing like another murder to put a kink in your day.”

I grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t go anywhere. The police will want a statement from all of us.”

“I need to get to my course,” she argued. “We’re learning how to tint eyebrows and eyelashes today.”

Max gaped from Jimmy’s Groucho Marx eyebrows back to Phyllis. “You mean you did that to Jimmy, and you hadn’t learned how?”

Phyllis nodded. “They told us to practice over the weekend to get a feel for the tint. Who else was I going to work on?”

Max stared down at the corpse, and I knew he was thinking the dead would be Phyllis’s best bet.

“Sorry, Phyllis,” I said. “You’ll have to wait until the police get here.”

“And it’s Sunday,” Max declared. “What kind of beauty class is taught on a Sunday?”

Phyllis crossed her arms. “With everyone working during regular business hours, nights and Sundays were the only times they could run the course. Look it up if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t need to. If you’re enrolled, I already know it’s a horse and donkey show.”

An exasperated sigh left my lips. “Don’t you mean dog and pony show?”

“No.” He let that sit like horse and donkey was self-explanatory.

Jimmy fell to his knees in front of Dooley’s lifeless body and shook his head. “I had a feeling something was bothering Dools.” He peered up at me. “He had a habit of chewing his nails when he was stressed. And like, look at them. Stubs.”

Max leaned in, then straightened. “His cuticles don’t look so good either.”

I sliced Max a terse look.

Tamping down my queasy stomach, I knelt beside Jimmy. “What was bothering him?”

Jimmy shook his head, long and slow. “I don’t know, but I think it had to do with his time in prison.”

“Prison!” I lurched to my feet, dropping my cloth in surprise.

Jimmy swiped it off the floor and stood beside me. “Like, I know. Shocker, right? But I thought it was all good. Dools had served his time for auto theft, and he was getting on with his life.”

“Then what was worrying him?”

“I think it was more a who than a what.” He plunked the cloth in my hand. “Some woman had called here a couple of times to speak to him. And when Dools hung up the phone, he was clearly agitated.”

I bit my bottom lip. “Maybe it was a girlfriend or a relative.”

“Nope. No girlfriend to speak of, and if it’d been family, he would’ve told me.”

I was deliberating on this when the sound of sirens wailed down the street, and a sense that this was about to explode came over me.

Within seconds, Rueland’s finest hustled through Jimmy’s front door. Romero led the pack in a black leather jacket, jeans, and a plaid flannel shirt. His dark hair was ruffled from the wind, his full mouth unsmiling and controlled. His gait was slow, bordering on painful, thanks to yours truly dropping a pretty, marbleized bowling ball on his foot a few days ago. Accidentally, of course.

The heat I felt a few moments ago from Jock skyrocketed at the sight of Romero. Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t nearly describe the sensuality that exuded from this hard-muscled, Mediterranean-skinned, tough cop.

Romero caught my eye, gave me a private nod that sent a shiver down to my groin, then called out orders to his men. Instantly, the place turned into a scene from CSI. Crime scene tape went up, fingerprint kits popped open, and cameras started clicking.

I swallowed, admiring the way Romero took charge of a situation, then quickly straightened at the silent look he transferred from the dead body to me. I stepped back out of the way and wrung the cloth in my hands, interpreting the look as you’re-in-deep-doo-doo.

Though I’d known Romero for five months and was familiar with his personality, the dangerous stares he could give either made me hot and sweaty or made me want to run for cover.

In this case I told myself I had nothing to fear. I mean, there were four other witnesses here today. On top of which, I’d never even met Dooley. How could I be responsible for this? Anyway, I had my own issues to worry about.

Topping the list, this morning’s dildo-and-perm-rod delivery. Gut instinct said this wasn’t a joke. But who would go to such lengths to freak me out? An old boyfriend? Ha! It’d been so long since I’d had one of those, I couldn’t even recall the last one’s name.

Get serious. Who else?

Candace Needlemeyer, my archenemy from beauty school? Hmm. I wouldn’t put anything past Candace. She was Maleficent, Cruella de Vil, and the Wicked Queen from Snow White rolled into one. And even those villains’ nastiness didn’t hold a candle to Candace’s antics.

Candace had opened Supremo Stylists three blocks from Beaumont’s a month after I’d opened the salon and had used every trick in the book to rob business from me. She’d even attempted to steal my staff, centering on Max, and then Jock. I’d once offered her Phyllis, but I guess Candace didn’t want too much of a good thing.

I puffed air out my nose in frustration. If I never saw Candace again, it’d be too soon. Yet hard as it was, I tried to think rationally where she was concerned. No doubt she riled me, but I had a tough time seeing her pull a prank this low. Scary and crazy wasn’t her style. She’d played dirty often enough and proved she’d stop at nothing to undermine me. But this wasn’t wrecking a mannequin in beauty school or ruining a color job or telling lies about me. This felt different.

Think, think, think. Who else could’ve done something so vile?

I rolled my gaze over to Phyllis, shifting my thoughts from one crazy broad to another. I pressed my lips together and stifled a moan. I didn’t suspect Phyllis of any wrongdoing, but she’d left a long trail of unhappy customers. What if one of those clients thought it was time to get even for her screw-ups?

This wasn’t such a bizarre thought. True, I’d never been sued—praise the Lord—but people had a funny way of dealing with things. Perhaps someone was playing vigilante, taking the law into his or her own hands to seek justice for a crime committed in Phyllis’s chair. One could argue that what she did to her clients day-to-day was a crime.

I mentally turned back the clock to Phyllis’s more spectacular disasters, the list too long to go through. But as with everything where Phyllis was involved, certain things stood out.

What if it was the woman who resembled Alice Cooper after Phyllis’s makeover? Or the client who stamped out of the shop with a crater-sized hole in the back of her hair? Or the lady who fled after Phyllis tweezed off all her eyebrows?

The list was endless. It’d take a lifetime to figure out which client could’ve done this, if indeed it were a client. But were any of these people crazy enough to resort to such an outlandish prank? Were they not satisfied with the follow-up apology and promised discount for the next salon service? Did any of them even know about my history with the perm-rod debacle?

The more I thought about the likelihood of a customer placing a dildo on my porch, the more holes I found in this theory. Sure, Phyllis was unpopular with clients, and a good many never returned to her chair, but I couldn’t see a true connection from a disgruntled customer to something as personal—and directed at me—as a dildo delivery.

I cracked a knuckle, ruminating on this, when I spotted Romero bending over Dooley. He took notes, then conferred with Jock.

I gulped, not sure what I thought about this new bond between the two men. Romero was a macho, hard-headed Italian. Jock was ex-navy and a master-at-arms. I hadn’t given myself to Romero intimately, but I had a feeling if he ever found out I’d woken up in Jock’s bed—naked—well, I wasn’t sure how helpful Jock’s decorated past would be. I choked back the trepidation at what could happen if I ever let that one-time occurrence slip from my mouth.

Jock said something to Romero, and Romero gave me the eye. A second later, he sauntered over, caution marking his steps.

I bumped back against the table I’d just cleaned and put on an innocent smile though my insides were a jumbled mess of nerves.

“How are you doing?” he asked casually, as if it’d been weeks since I’d last seen him instead of a few days, and we weren’t standing in the middle of a crime scene.

I gave him a wary look, the small scar on his cheekbone adding to how threatening he appeared. “Fine?” I held back a nervous nose twitch. “And you?”

No sense bringing up his hurt foot…again. Besides, the mishap never would’ve happened if he hadn’t been putting on the moves while teaching me the finer points of bowling. Show-off.

He did a so-so tilt with his head. “Seems we’ve got a situation.” He looked over his shoulder at the victim, then back at me.

If I’d had a challenge-free morning, I wouldn’t have felt myself stiffen. But it hadn’t been challenge-free. My morning had been complete with the dildo delivery, my sore eye, unruly hair, Phyllis’s butchery, plus, discovering poor Jimmy’s dead cousin. And Romero’s borderline accusatory look fired me up in all the wrong ways.

I smacked the cloth on the table and crossed my arms, everything coming to a mountainous head. “Why don’t you just say it?”

“Say what?”

“Something sarcastic about me discovering another dead body.”

He gave a slight shrug. “I’m actually getting used to it.” He looked from my irritated eye to my disheveled hair, then swept me in for a hug. “You okay?”

Not expecting this tender reaction from him, I let my defenses down. “Mmm-hmm.” I melted in his arms, controlling the tears from rolling down my face.

His muscular hands held my head close to his chest. His Iron Man watch rested against my cheek. “Jock told me what happened. Anything you want to add?”

I stayed curled up for a bit, luxuriating in the comforting scent of his Arctic Spruce and the smooth feel of his watch. Telling myself I couldn’t stay this way forever, I backed up and wiped my nose. “Did you know about Dooley’s incarceration?”

“Yep. Dooley was well known. He was a misguided kid, easily led. But he did his time. Been out for a couple of months now.”

I thought about this. “Jimmy felt there was something about Dooley’s time behind bars that was bothering him.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. But there was a woman involved who’d called him at the restaurant.”

“We’ll look into it,” he said. “By the way, I don’t want to scare you, but Ziggy Stoaks escaped from Rivers View Correctional Center last night.”

“Ziggy Stoaks?” I repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” Romero looked at me quizzically. “You forgotten already? You helped put him away for murdering Max’s friend Freddie.” He paused. “You’ve been the butt of so many perm-rod jokes, I figured you wouldn’t have forgotten that historic day.”

I hadn’t. That day had changed my life. I’d gone from an unknown beautician of a mediocre salon to Rueland’s amateur beauty sleuth. Unwanted notoriety at its best.

“His buddy Luther Boyle wasn’t with him,” Romero added. “Probably nothing to worry about. But stay on the alert.”

My heart pounded in my chest, which was where the color in my face felt like it had drained to, and a lump formed in my throat.

Romero took hold of me by both shoulders and gave me a shake. “What’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost.”

In my mind, I was back to that day at the landfill, tripping over heaps of garbage in an effort to nab two murderers. Luther Boyle had been an easier catch. He’d tackled me first, but once I’d speared him in the gut with my metal tail comb, he’d passed out from the sight of blood.

Ziggy Stoaks was different. He wasn’t as big as Boyle, and he had a limp, so I hadn’t thought he’d get far. But he was crafty and put up a good fight. In all honesty, I’d been lucky to come out alive. Thank God for my beauty tools.

“Mikey,” one of the uniforms called to Romero.

Romero waved a hand back at the cop, his focus still on my face. “What is it, Valentine? Say something.”

I forced down the lump and stared up into his eyes. “I got a delivery this morning on my front porch.”

“What kind of delivery?”

I lifted one shoulder in hesitation. “It wasn’t flowers…and it wasn’t exactly chocolates.”

His mouth went hard. “What exactly was it?”

I lowered my gaze to the ground, embarrassed. “A dildo wrapped with a white perm rod.”

He tilted my chin up with his finger. “Is this a joke?”

“I thought so at first, but with Ziggy escaping…and a white perm rod’s what I used when I caught him—”

“Yeah.” Romero quickly calculated the implications. “You’re not staying alone till he’s been apprehended.”

“Pardon?” His concern was sweet, but I didn’t like the bossy tone.

“You heard me. Call it a hunch, but it sounds like Stoaks hasn’t forgiven you for turning him into a choir boy. And unless you can tell me anyone else you suspect of delivering that dildo on your doorstep, you’re going to stay at my house.”

I shook my head no. “You can take the thing and dust it for fingerprints. I didn’t touch it. It’s on my porch, top of the steps to the right.”

“Fine.” He called over one of his men, explained the situation, and the cop departed. Then Romero zeroed in on me again. “What are you doing here anyway?”

I stared over his shoulder at the Skink who was shaking his head, still in disbelief. “We were helping Jimmy get ready for his grand opening Saturday.”

Romero nodded. “Until the ID unit’s finished sweeping the scene, consider your jobs here done. And I’ll repeat, you’re going to stay at my place. I’ll have one of my men escort you there.”

“I can’t. I have things to do.”

“Such as?” He gave me a skeptical look, like he wondered if I’d forgotten my recent promise. The one where I was supposed to contemplate keeping my tools strictly for hair instead of catching crooks. Romero’s way of saying, stay out of police investigations.

If he really wanted to know, I had contemplated keeping my tools strictly for hair. But I had no intention of locking myself away until Ziggy Stoaks was found. I’d captured him once. If I had to do it again, I would.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I have to check in on a friend.”

“What friend?”

“Sheesh.” I rammed my hands on my hips. “Do you have to know everything?”

“When it comes to you, yes.”

I huffed, acting like the victim when in truth I couldn’t blame Romero for the third-degree questioning. I’d gotten in over my head too many times, but I’d learned from those past mistakes. Hadn’t I?

I gazed back at the Skink. “As soon as we’re free to go, I’m simply going to take Jimmy home. Make sure he’s all right.” Jimmy didn’t know this, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.

Romero deliberated on my plan, still eyeing me like he didn’t trust me. “Fine. I can’t force you to come to my home. But to be safe,” he added, “a cruiser will be patrolling your neighborhood for unusual activity.”

“No need. Ray Donoochi’s down the street. I’ll fill him in on this morning’s occurrence.”

Ray was a cop for the Boston Police Department. I knew Romero had worked with him in the past. Ray was as tall as he was wide. He also had two teenage sons who were strong and who’d learned self-defense from their father. The Donoochis weren’t my bodyguards, and they weren’t automatic buffers against danger. Their failure to prevent the dildo delivery already proved that. Still, they were nearby if I needed them.

“Ray’s a good man, but his wife’s got to cut back on the desserts she’s serving him.” Romero gave me a stern look. “Don’t go anywhere alone. You spot anything suspicious, call me. Hear?”

I saluted.

“Don’t be a smartass.” He took his finger and brushed a stray hair back off my forehead, his intense blue eyes darkening on mine. “Bowling may have been a disaster, but I have other things planned for you. I want you in one piece.”

It was never easy distinguishing whether Romero’s words were a warning or a guarantee. Nonetheless, I felt a stirring down low, taking this as a subtle reminder of a couple of steamy nights several weeks ago, cuddling in a private cabana on the beach in the Bahamas.

True, I’d woken up in Jock’s arms a few days before that, and to the uninformed person, I probably sounded like a trollop. But there were extenuating factors to my night with Jock that justified my actions.

Romero flicked the tip of my nose, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’m needed over there. In the meantime, stay out of trouble.” At that, he backed up and headed over to the cop who’d called him.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. I’d stay out of trouble all right. How I did that while finding a killer was another question.