24. Hattie

I've been threatened a time or two in my life, and not once have I taken kindly to it.

I duck and spin until I'm looking right at my attacker, and one look of that familiar face has me gasping.

"Bunny Prescott," I shrill her name up over the laughter, the music, and the crashing waves here at the Stars and Stripes Spectacular. "You about gave me a heart attack! Now get over here," I say, pulling her in for a strong, rocking hug and we squeal and laugh even though I'm still moved to kick her.

I pull back to examine her once again. Bunny is a tall, blonde puddle of society girl perfection. Her skin glows the color of the perfect latte, her hair is a milkier shade of blonde than I remember, but her hot pink lips and hot pink micro dress she's threatening to pop right out of is exactly how I remember her.

Her father spends his time buying up Manhattan, and Bunny spends her time buying up everything else. She's a self-proclaimed man-eater and she just so happens to be one of my very best friends.

"What are you doing back in town?" I ask. "I thought you were yachting on the Mediterranean until fall!"

"Are you kidding?" She gravels out a laugh. "I decided I just couldn't miss the fireworks here in Brambleberry Bay. Not to mention the fireworks in honor of the Fourth." She leans in and her eyes glow in the ever-dimming light. "I heard the murder club is back in business. How dare you find another body without me. Didn't I tell you to hold your homicidal horses until I got back?"

It's true. She did.

"At least now I know what it takes to bring you back from the four corners of the earth," I say just as Chevy and Hillary come this way.

Chevy has her short blonde mane pulled back by way of a red, white, and blue bandana, and she's wearing a dress to match in patriotic hues.

Hillary's fiery red mane is the personification of a cherry bomb. And with that little red dress she has on, her body is sort of the personification of a firecracker, too.

I'm wearing a red dress as well, but it's long and flowy, and with every light breeze it threatens to pick up and show off my underwear. It sort of has me on alert at all times.

"Club rules," Hillary says, pointing a svelte red fingernail my way. "Club business cannot be discussed without three or more members present."

"That is not a club rule," I say.

"It is now," Chevy says, leaning. "So? Do we have any more dirt on Missy Livingston or Dr. Draper?"

"Don't forget Nora Maddox." Hillary nods. "Her path in life has been pretty well soiled, so this should be easy."

Bunny gasps so loud it sounds as if every champagne bubble on the premises just popped.

"You mean to tell me those are your suspects?" Bunny cranes her neck past me. "Let's start from the top. Who's Missy Livingston?"

Chevy wastes no time in pointing her out. "That stunner with long dark hair."

Bunny frowns at the woman. "She looks familiar. Do we know her?"

"Not really," Hillary says. "She's been running some questionable classes at the club. Be glad your yoga wear came out unscathed." I not only had to throw out my yoga pants, but I had to trade in my Jaguar for a new one. Let's just say those butter-yellow seats weren't so yellow after the car ride home.

"Eww." I wince at the thought. "I mean, oh," I say, blinking over at the dessert buffet where Mr. Slime Bucket himself is pawing all over my sister. "And that would be Dr. Draper. He's a dentist and a cheat. His wife is leaving him."

"You don't say? A dentist," Bunny purrs, and I can't help but roll my eyes. I wouldn't mind checking out his equipment. It's been a long time since I've dated someone who specializes in oral hygiene.

"Oh, good grief," I mutter. "He might be our killer."

Bunny shrugs to herself. It's never stopped me before.And just like that, there's another interesting detail about him.

Hillary jerks in closer. "I did a little digging and found out that Dr. Draper has a hankering for leaving his private number with his most beautiful patients."

"My sister can attest to that," I say, scowling over at Neelie. "I never thought I'd say this, but where is Stanton Troublefield when you really need him?" I ask, craning my neck into the crowd and spot Killion looking right at me. I'm about to wave, but he ducks back into the crowd with Rookie in tow.

Wait… What just happened? I could swear he was looking at me, but it's as if he wanted to pretend he wasn't.

"Everyone knows Nora Maddox is a battle-ax," Chevy says, filling Bunny in on the obvious. "Let's face it, if Nora is the killer, neither Hattie nor Killion will make that arrest."

"It must be good to have friends in high places." Hillary shoots me a look. "It's nice to know the two of you would let someone get away with murder." They certainly weren't going to let the rest of us slide.

A tiny smile plays on my lips. It's true. Last Thanksgiving, Killion and I pegged these women for covering up a homicide. But that's murderous water long under the bridge.

Still not giving any one of them a pass on a homicide, though.

Well, maybe Bunny. But only if she kills for a good cause. A scuffle over Manolo Blahniks doesn't count.

Killion's mother snags my eye, and I shake my head.

"Nora certainly isn't getting away with murder on my watch," I mutter and garner a laugh from the entire lot of them. "And neither is Jane Jordan's killer," I say. "I hardly think Nora had a hand in that. I think we need to keep digging."

Chevy slumps at the thought. "I do my best digging with a glass of champagne. I'll be back."

"Me, too," Hillary says as the two of them take off for the champagne fountain.

"No champs for you?" I ask Bunny who seems to be narrowing her gaze at someone behind me.

"There will be time for champs later. I think I just remembered why that woman looks so familiar." She points past me. "And Missy Livingston isn't her name."

I turn that way and my mouth falls open. "Spill the dirt, sister."

"That's Lochlin Livingsworth. Her father duped my father out of half a million dollars."

I gasp at the thought. "Did he live to tell about it?"

From what I hear, Bunny's father has some dicey connections.

"He lived," she sneers. "The guy was running a Ponzi scheme and ended up doing time. He lost everything, including a nice-size fortune he had amassed via thievery. Rumor has it, his children went from being well taken care of to changing their names and peddling their own dicey wares."

"I guess hers is coaching," I say. "She's a life coach actually. And she singlehandedly gave half the club the runs."

"I like her a little better now," Bunny muses just as Chevy and Hillary reappear with bubbly in tow.

"What did we miss?" Hillary asks, sipping her sparkling pink champagne.

I quickly relay Bunny's revelation and the two of them go slack-jawed.

"Wait a minute," Chevy says. "I know her, too. Or at least I heard about her. Lochlin used to be married to one of my brother's friends. He was a lawyer and they divorced because of her nasty little habit. Apparently, she's a kleptomaniac. She even stole straight from women's purses at social functions. She was proving to be more problematic than her father's reputation so he dumped her."

"She's a thief by nature?" I cock my head as I consider this. "Oh my word, no wonder there was a discrepancy in her bill versus what she charged the country club."

"That means she has things she'd like to cover up." Chevy lifts a brow my way.

"Therefore, she's the killer," Hillary says.

"And look"—Bunny points as Missy heads off down to the dark end of the beach where poor Jane met her untimely death—"she's about to leave the country."