A Tale of Two Biddies (4 page)

There were two things I wanted to talk to Dino about, but with the five members of Guillotine (aka Boyz ’n Funk) munching their way through a dozen and a half croissants and what seemed like a couple gallons of coffee and juice, I didn’t have a chance.

Have no fear, I wasn’t about to let Dino disappear right after breakfast the way his bandmates did. Not until I had some answers.

He’d just downed the last of the brioche and there were crumbs on both of Dino’s chins, but I didn’t bother to point this out. Instead, I started to gather the dirty plates and eased into what I thought might turn into an uncomfortable conversation. “When Richie came over this morning to bring the croissants . . .”

Dino gulped down the last of his coffee. “Who?”

“Richie. Richie Monroe.” Not that it would explain anything because Richie was long gone, but I looked out the dining room window in the direction of the driveway. “This morning when you were going out to talk to your fan club. He brought—”

“Oh, the delivery guy.” Dino pushed back from the table. “What about him?”

“He said something to you.”

As if trying to remember, Dino scrunched up his eyes. “Did he?”

“He didn’t look happy.”

“Poor sucker!” He trotted around to my side of the table. “The sun is shining, there’s a beautiful woman in the room with me, and Boyz ’n Funk are back together again for what’s going to be a kick-ass concert. What’s not to be happy about?”

“I thought maybe you could tell me.”

He took a moment to think about it. “You mean about the delivery guy.”

“He was angry.”

Dino’s left eye twitched. “He said something about something.” Another pause for thinking. “Blah, blah, blah. It didn’t make sense. None of it. If you ask me, he must have had me mixed up with someone else.”

“I am asking you.”

Dino grinned. This close, he smelled like cigarettes and I hoped he remembered I had a strict rule about not smoking inside the house. “He had me mixed up with someone else.”

Maybe I wasn’t getting answers because Dino was right and he didn’t know who Richie was or what he’d been blathering about. Or maybe . . .

I thought about the night before and the way Richie had disappeared the moment Guillotine got off the ferry and showed up in the park.

“You didn’t used to live around here, did you?” I asked Dino.

“Never set foot on the island before. Though if I’d known there was a chick as cute as you around . . .” He sidled closer.

I stepped away.

If ever there was a time to change the subject, I knew this was it. “There’s a guillotine on my front porch,” I told him.

“Isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever seen!” Dino’s eyes lit. Apparently, there was nothing like head-chopping mayhem to make a guy forget his lame come-on. He strolled out to the front porch and, ignoring the new squeals of adulation that started up out on the street, he waved a hand at the guillotine like Vanna at the letter board. “It’s for the act. You know, the concert on Saturday night. What do you think? It’s a killer, eh? Killer? Get it?”

I got it.

“But what’s it doing here?” I asked. “And when will it be moved?”

Dino groaned. “Oh man! I thought a babe like you would be way cooler about something this awesome.”

I reminded myself that he was a paying customer. “I’m plenty cool with it, except . . .” A couple golf carts—the island’s preferred mode of summer transportation—whirred by and I saw drivers and passengers point and stare. “This is a quiet neighborhood,” I said, in spite of the fact that with Tiffany and her troops out on the street, it was anything but. “Well, it’s usually a quiet neighborhood, and I don’t want to cause a commotion. And you . . .” I glommed onto an idea and rode it like a Kentucky Derby winner. “You don’t want to ruin the surprise for Saturday night, do you?”

It was obvious Dino was so excited about his toy, he hadn’t thought of this. He started out slowly and, little by little, his nod picked up steam. “I was thinking it would start a buzz, you know? I never figured—”

“As if you need buzz!” Yes, I could sound sincere, even when I didn’t mean it. Remember all those cocktail parties and all that schmoozing I talked about? Schmoozing is good practice for dealing with once-upon-a-time rock stars. “Besides . . .” As if it were a snake, coiled and ready to strike, I gave the guillotine another look. “It would be terrible if something happened and someone got hurt. My insurance rates are already through the roof, and if somebody was injured—”

“Not going to happen, honey!” I guess the pat on the back Dino gave me was supposed to make me feel better. The way his hand lingered on my shoulder definitely did not. “It’s a gag. You know, a toy. The whole guillotine thing, it’s a magic trick. I can prove it. Go on.” He gave me a nudge. “Kneel down. Put your head in there. I’ll show you.”

I locked my knees. “No way. You can talk magic all you want, you’re not going to get me to do that.”

“Come on.” Another nudge from Dino. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“Yes.” And I wasn’t afraid to admit it. “Even if you’re right and this thing can’t hurt me, just putting my head in it . . .” I shivered and took a step back. “Sorry! My imagination’s way too good, and what I’m imagining scares the bejabbers out of me. I’d never get close to that thing. Not in a million years.”

“Spoilsport!” If Dino expected this assessment of me to change my mind, he was wrong. “Hey, I’m going to do it, baby, and if I’ve got the guts, you should do it, too. On Saturday night right before intermission at the concert. I’m going to kneel down, and ol’ Jesse’s going to pull this. Here, just like this.” He reached for a lever at the top of the contraption and gave it a tug, and the blade flashed down.

I gasped.

Dino laughed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. That’s exactly when all the lights are going to go out at the park. Just for a minute. Just to get people all worked up. And then when the lights come on again . . . get this, this is going to be so freakin’ cool! When the lights come on again, there’s going to be this basket here at the front of the guillotine, see. And inside it is going to be a dummy’s head!”

Yes, it was on the tip of my tongue to mention that if Dino’s head was in the basket, of course there would be a dummy involved.

But remember what I said about being the hostess. And about Guillotine paying for a week’s stay.

“So how does the dummy’s head—”

“I’m going to slip out of the guillotine,” he answered even before I finished the question. “You know, when the lights go out. And that’s when we’ll throw the dummy’s head in the basket. It’s great, right? People are going to love it!”

I wasn’t so sure. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Dino’s eyes were the color of a Hershey’s dark chocolate bar, and he raised them toward the porch ceiling just long enough to let me know he couldn’t believe what a party pooper I was.

“Nothing’s going to happen!” he wailed, arms out at his sides as if he were singing the last notes of an aria. “Nothing bad, anyway. It’s all just a sight gag. Quick.” As if he actually expected this to produce results, he snapped his fingers. “Get me something that I can put in here and chop.”

I will admit that my first inclination was to refuse, but in spite of myself, I was intrigued. My second thought was to look around for Jerry Garcia, though truth be told, if push had come to shove, I wouldn’t have actually had the heart to use the cat in the demonstration. Instead, I went inside for one of the cantaloupes Richie had brought along with the croissant delivery.

“Perfect!” Dino said, and he grabbed the cantaloupe and licked his lips with delight. He propped the melon in the stocks, raised the blade, and once again, pulled the lever.

I let out a gasp that turned to an “oh” of amazement when I saw that the cantaloupe was intact and unharmed.

“See, I told you.” Dino was as proud as if he’d invented the crazy trick himself. “It looks real enough, but it’s nothing but a prop. It’s a magic trick! This guillotine couldn’t hurt a fly!”

E
lephants pounded through my head. I was pretty sure they were wearing heavy boots. With tap cleats on them.

My breastbone vibrated.

As if some sinister dragon had its lair in the basement of Levi’s bar, the floor under my feet pulsed with the creature’s every breath.

It was Wednesday night, and Guillotine was giving a one-time-only abbreviated preconcert show.

“You know, to get people all revved up for Saturday night,” Dino had told me before he and the other boys in the no-longer-boys boy band left the B and B earlier that evening.

If this was what revved up was all about . . .

I clutched the bar and watched ripples in my glass of Wilder Winery Reisling vibrating to the driving bass beat. That is, right before an earsplitting chord crescendoed, dragged on (and on), and ended with wailing feedback from the amplifier. Dino screamed his thanks and told the packed audience the band would be back after a short intermission.

I was so relieved by the moment of silence between the last echo of the music and the sounds of the crowd coming back to life and talking too loud—because by now, we were all hearing impaired—my spine accordioned and my breath whooshed out of me.

“Enjoying the concert?” Honestly, I was so intent on keeping my sanity, I hadn’t even noticed that Levi was behind the bar and directly across from me. He poured a beer someone had ordered and grinned. His voice was too loud. But then, I’d bet any money his ears were ringing, too.

“I’m not sure ‘enjoying’ is the right word.” I shook my head and wondered if this was how Quasimodo felt when he screamed, “The bells! The bells!” Someday, I would suggest to the League that we read
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
. Since Kate, Luella, and Chandra were all at Levi’s that night, too, they would no doubt understand. “‘Tolerating’ is more accurate. Something tells me the music will be better in the park on Saturday night. More open air. Less—”

“Pain?” Levi said what I was thinking, and though I didn’t ask him to, he topped off the wine in my glass.

“They’re great! Aren’t they great?” Gordon Hunter came up behind the stool where I sat. Kate had been perched on the one next to me until just a few minutes earlier when ferryboat captain Jayce Martin walked by and invited her outside while he had a smoke. Kate is not a smoker. And she claims she’s up in the air when it comes to reciprocating what were unspoken but clearly emotions-of-the-undying-adoration kind from Jayce. Still, she didn’t waste a moment taking him up on his offer.

A man in a Cleveland Indians T-shirt had already taken Kate’s place, and he scooted over to let Gordon squeeze in.

“Luckiest bar owner in Put-in-Bay!” Gordon pounded the bar and looked over to where Levi had gone to take orders. I glanced that way, too, and saw Levi step back to let Mike Lawrence by with a couple cases of beer. It looked as if Levi had beat me to the punch when it came to finding some extra work for Mike.

When Mike got nearer, Gordon ordered a lite beer, and Mike set down the cases and got it for him. “Lucky dog, Levi won the chance to host this little mini-concert,” Gordon told me. “You know, in that chamber of commerce promotion I cooked up earlier in the summer.”

I did know, and according to Luella, who always had the inside scoop on what our fellow merchants were up to, I also knew Levi had been reluctant to enter. His bar had been open less than a year and it already had a reputation with islanders and visitors alike as a spot for good food, cold beer, and a comfortable and quiet place to sit and watch island life go by. Levi didn’t want—or tolerate—customers who partied too hearty, and he didn’t need—or court—publicity. He wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of hard-drinking rock fans, but he knew he had to participate in the promotion so the other merchants wouldn’t think he was some kind of elitist.

I certainly wouldn’t have thought that.

But then, when it came to Levi, I wasn’t exactly sure what to think.

As if he was reading my mind, Levi came back to my end of the bar and tipped his head toward the door. “Need some fresh air?” he asked.

I could have admitted that I needed the fresh air but was reluctant to be alone with him, but honestly, how immature would that be? We were both adults, and we didn’t have to be best friends—or anything else—to pass a few blissfully quiet moments together.

I was sure my wineglass would be cleaned up by the time I got back, so I took one more sip, slid off my barstool, turned, and nearly slammed right into Tiffany Hollister.

“Okay, so it’s not exactly their old music like they used to play their old music when they were playing their old music,” she told the big-haired woman next to her. “But they’re still awesome.” She caught my eye and I don’t know if she recognized me as the woman whose privacy she had invaded the morning before or not. That didn’t stop her from beaming. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“Awesome,” I said, more because I wanted Tiffany to move so I could get by than because I believed it.

“And so wonderful!” Tiffany nearly swooned. But then, that might have had something to do with the Long Island Iced Tea she was drinking. I had a feeling it wasn’t her first of the night. “They’re doing this for charity, you know,” she said, as if she hadn’t already told me this the day before when she and her rabid friends descended on the B and B. “You don’t think they’d be pretending to be this crazy Guillotine group for any other reason, do you? It’s not like they need the publicity or anything. I mean, really, why would they? They’re Boyz ’n Funk!”

The guy in the Indians T-shirt had apparently been eavesdropping. “Who?” he asked.

Eyes flaming like a missionary bent on converting a new soul, Tiffany closed in on him and I saw my opportunity. I sidled my way over to the front door where Levi waited for me.

“Charity, huh?” He’d obviously heard what Tiffany had said because his mouth pulled into a one-sided smile. “The way I heard the story, the only charity these guys are interested in is their own. They took this gig because they couldn’t get work anyplace else.”

“So now they’re Guillotine.” Before we stepped outside, I took one more look over my shoulder at the gruesome guillotine. Yes, I remembered what Dino had said about how the device was all part of an elaborate magic trick. And yes, I remembered his demonstration and how my cantaloupe had remained unharmed. In fact, I’d served it that Wednesday morning at breakfast. That didn’t keep a shiver from crawling up my spine.

Though the air-conditioning was cranking inside Levi’s, it felt cooler outside with a breeze off the lake and room to move and breathe. There used to be an empty shop to the left of the bar, but earlier that summer it had been leased by a hair salon, which was closed and quiet this time of night. I headed that way, far from the smokers who all seemed to have gathered to the right, between Levi’s and the souvenir shop that abutted that side of the bar.

“Remind me never to enter another merchants’ concert promotion,” Levi said once we were out of range of any of his customers’ hearing.

So, he assumed we’d still be talking again some time in the future.

While I tried to decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing, my attention was caught by a commotion across the street right in front of the closed storefront that used to house the Orient Express restaurant. It was the scene of the murder the other Literary Ladies and I had investigated earlier that year, and because of that—and the still-disturbing fact that we’d been the ones who’d found the body of Peter Chan, the restaurant’s proprietor—I usually avoided the place.

That wasn’t so easy now because I could see two guys who were obviously feeling no pain jawing with a short, thin guy in tattered jeans, a dirty T-shirt, and new sneakers.

“Richie,” I groaned, and since I knew two against Richie automatically meant trouble, I started across the street.

“Hey, Richie!” I called out when I was halfway there. New York, remember, and I’d learned early on that there is no better way to diffuse a tiff than to pretend ignorance and get the warring parties separated. “I’ve been looking for you, Richie.” Like it was the most natural thing in the world, I stepped between Richie and the two men.

Have no fear, Levi was right behind me, and though I might not know what he really thought of me, how he’d discovered that the story I’d told my friends about a dead husband who never existed was a lie, or how I was supposed to handle the waves of electricity that cascaded through me every time he was around, I was pretty sure I could trust him to have my back.

How right I was! Levi didn’t say a word; he simply planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chipped-from-marble chest. He was taller than both the strangers by a head, and the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin pretty much screamed what he didn’t have to say—he wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. One look from him and the two strangers backed off and headed toward the park.

I turned my attention back to Richie who, in spite of the fact that he’d been doing his best to hold his own against the two guys, watched them leave with what was clearly relief etched on his face.

That relief turned stony when Richie looked my way and his mouth twisted. “You didn’t need to save me. I can take care of myself.”

I shrugged like it was no big deal. “I’m sure you can.” As casually as I could, I glanced the way the two guys had gone just to make sure they weren’t stupid and decided to double back. “Friends of yours?”

Richie snorted. “Drunks.” He twitched. “They were being punks, that’s all. They wouldn’t move out of my way when I wanted to walk by.”

“Well, seeing you here worked out well for me,” I told him. “Because I’ve been looking for you.” For what? I asked myself the question at the same time I came up with the answer, so I didn’t insult Richie by making him think I’d only come across the street to save his skin. Even though it was true. “Richie, I wondered if you could do some work for me around the B and B.”

Richie’s expression melted into a grin. “Don’t need no work.”

Levi stepped forward. “Come on, Richie. Bea’s being generous, and you’re always looking for work.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” Richie’s gaze darted from one of us to the other, his eyes bright with excitement. I’d seen him at Levi’s earlier in the evening, and I knew he’d had a couple beers. But this wasn’t alcohol talking. Richie was jazzed. “I said I don’t need no work. Don’t need nothing around here anymore. Not dumb jobs pulling weeds or selling ice cream. Not putting up with weekend drunks who don’t know how to act.” Richie’s gaze flashed across the street toward Levi’s. “I don’t need none of it no more. I’m gonna have plenty of money soon. And when I do, I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? When?” I asked him.

“Leaving.” Richie marched across the street. “And I’m never coming back.”

Side by side, Levi and I watched him go inside the bar.

“Diffusing a drunken brawl wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to step outside,” he said.

“I know.” I didn’t. I mean, I assumed diffusing a drunken brawl didn’t figure into it, but honestly, I didn’t know why he’d asked me to come outside. Or why I accepted. Not that I couldn’t imagine both Levi’s motivations and my own. But what I imagined shouldn’t be what I was imagining, anyway, so the way I saw it, I shouldn’t be imagining it in the first place. “It wasn’t exactly a brawl,” I pointed out instead.

“It could have turned into one.” He gave me a quick, sidelong look. “What would you have done then?”

I pursed my lips. “I don’t think of myself as a superhero, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I’m not especially brave. I could see that it wasn’t really serious. Richie’s an easy target, that’s all. A couple guys with a few too many drinks in them and Richie. As soon as I realized what was going on, I knew it wasn’t a good combination.”

“So if things got out of hand, you would have gone in with fists swinging?”

In spite of the fact that I’d told myself a couple thousand times that where Levi was concerned, I had to curb my emotions, I laughed. I held my arms out at my sides. “Do I look like a fighter?”

Bad move, because Levi took the opportunity to take me up on my offer and check me out thoroughly. His eyes were blue, and more than a time or two, I’d felt their icy touch. That night, though, they were as warm as a summer sky. He looked over the black shorts I wore with a top the color of ripe strawberries. His gaze moved up to my face and I hated myself for it, but I found myself holding my breath.

“We’ve been avoiding each other all summer,” he said.

“Not avoiding. We’ve been—”

“Avoiding.”

Since he was right, I didn’t bother to argue.

“It’s because of what I said, right?” I knew what was coming. Which would explain why I sucked in another breath and held it until my lungs felt as if they were on fire. “When I told you I knew you were never married.”

Across the street, the crowds that had been outside during intermission slowly snaked back into the bar, and I took the opportunity to watch them while I considered what to say. I decided on, “I could ask how you found out.”

“You know it’s not that hard. Modern technology and all that. It’s easy to dig up information on just about anybody.”

I turned back to him. “Then maybe I should ask why you cared enough to look.”