Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

" L ooks good, doesn't it?" I say as I cozy up to my next suspect at the dessert table.

The Thanks for Giving Trunk Sale is carrying on behind us here at the B&B with all the enthusiasm as a rave concert but with less glow-in-the-dark dicey cocktails and more knit tote bags.

"It looks so good, I don't know where to begin," she says, her eyes never leaving the selection of sweet treats.

"Those cuties have been a big hit," I say, pointing to the pumpkin spice cheesecake muffins. "I should know, I restock the shelves all day long down at the bakery. I'm Effie, I work with Lottie."

"Nice to meet you, Effie." She laughs as she snaps up a muffin. "I'm trusting you won't lead me astray."

"No siree," I say. But I'm not so sure she won't lead me astray. "So your shop is on Main Street, too?"

She nods through a bite and pauses to moan deeply. "Wow, this really is delicious." She rolls her eyes. "My shop is right across from Lottie's bakery. Apparently, in dangerous proximity." She holds up the muffin before taking another bite. "So good!"

"So how's the foot traffic been with that whole Gobble and Grab Turkey Trot? I mean, no sooner did it kick off than tragedy struck. Did that spook people away?"

I know for a fact it increased foot traffic at the bakery and there's been a run on pumpkin pies, but then 'tis the season—and well, people are morbid like that.

Me. I'm people.

She winces. "Not really. But then I'm not sure how it's impacted other businesses. I've been holding a pre-Black Friday sale since the first of the month. It's been nonstop traffic and I can hardly keep my shelves stocked."

"That's wonderful. But how does something like this work?" I nod to the melee happening around us. "I mean, you said all profits go to charity."

"Not just any charity, my charity." She gives a guttural laugh. "It's all a tax write-off for me so I don't mind the loss. The foundation has so much overhead involved, we could use every last write-off. Besides"—she leans in—"between you and me, these are all the seconds I was stuck with. You know, a little nick here, a thread missing there."

" Oh ," I say, looking out at the crowd just as Naomi holds up a bra with three cups. "That explains a lot."

"But it's all still a steal." She toasts me with that muffin again before she makes quick work of it.

"Speaking of steals, that dead guy sure stole the show the other night." Okay, so I need to work on my segues. But in my defense, I'm an untrained assassin, not a polished detective. "Did you know him?"

Fiona's eyes widen ever so slightly. "Peter? Oh, we go way back. He was a charming man, and always had a way with people. A bit of a smooth talker, if you know what I mean." She frowns out at the crowd as if he were out there now smooth talking away.

I nod, encouraging her to continue. "So, you two were close?"

"Oh, not romantically," Fiona clarifies with a laugh. "Peter and I were more business associates. He had a knack for investments, and he was always full of ideas. Some good, some not so much." She grimaces a little before snapping up a frosted brownie with sprinkles, one of my eternal faves.

"So what kind of business dealings did the two of you have?"

"He helped structure my foundation. Peter was quite the whizz with finances. He knew how to maximize benefits and minimize taxes. He was very good at making money appear and disappear, if you catch my drift."

"I'm beginning to," I say. Seeing that the men on my hit list always land there for the same reason, I'm betting he made money appear by borrowing from my uncle. And well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out how to make money disappear. Even I've mastered my hand at that. My Visa bill can attest to the fact.

"We both benefited from his expertise," she says with a sigh. "Such a tragedy he's gone. And with that peanut allergy of his? You'd think he'd have been more cautious than jumping into a pie-eating contest without asking about the ingredients."

"It wouldn't have done him much good, but I agree with you. It's almost as if he had a death wish. Do you know if Peter had any enemies or issues with people as of late?"

Her lips press tight as she gives a quick look around. "He and his ex weren't exactly on speaking terms. She's that whole self-help guru who walks around telling people they can conjure up mansions and sportscars." She rolls her eyes. "Please, the only thing she's good at conjuring up is money in her bank account. And when she and Peter divorced—well, his bank account sort of dried up. But last I spoke to him, he said he had an ace up his sleeve. I guess there was some trouble his ex got into a while ago that he thought might hurt her if it got out to her audience. He thought if he lorded it over her head she'd cough up what he thought she really owed him in the split."

My eyes nearly spring out of my skull. "You mean he was blackmailing her?"

She nods. "I'm not sure what the details were, but he did mention something about her almost going to prison over it so it must have been big."

"Wow. I bet she's not all that sorry to see him go."

"Oh, she wouldn't be. He was a cad. Always taking up with one hussy or another behind her back until she caught him. Once Harmony kicked Peter out the door, she vowed she'd dance at this funeral." She shrugs. "I can't judge her. I wasn't married to the guy."

"Did he have anyone else who'd want to dance a jig on his grave? The guy sounds like a real piece of work."

"I'm sure there's a conga line forming from here to New York. But I couldn't tell you their names." She takes a bite out of her brownie and lifts a finger. "Actually, there is someone who might have more information. He's always a big help with our community outreach work. Peter and he were pretty tight. It always seemed as if they were conspiring. The guy's name is Frank Santoro. He just has the biggest heart."

Frank Santoro? Unfortunately, that's one heart I'm out to stop beating.

"What was Frank's connection to Peter?"

"They were friends. Peter and Frank were thick as thieves." She glares past me as she says it. "Anyway, he owns Frankie's Bullpen Bar and Grill out in Leeds." She makes a face as she says the name of the seedy town. I can't blame her. "I hear they make a mean version of trash can fries. You know, perfectly crisp French fries loaded with everything you'd ever want on them? He catered an event for the foundation once. They were amazing, smothered in nacho cheese, smoky bacon bits, and drizzled with barbeque sauce and who knows what else. Just talking about them has my mouth watering."

"Mine, too," I say and it's no joke. I can hardly wait to track down Frankie at his delicious digs and dig into his fries—right before I dig into him with a bullet.

A scream evicts from someone near a rack of dresses.

Fiona sighs. "Here's hoping that's a scream of delight. I'd better see what that's about."

She takes off just as Aunt Cat strides this way with a black feathered boa around her neck and a rhinestone bra attached to the outside of her blouse.

It was only a matter of time.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Aunt Cat calls out, her voice dripping with faux sophistication. "Feast your eyes on the latest in haute couture!"

Carlotta twirls around, nearly knocking over a display of scarves. "We call this look bling meets bonkers !"

The room erupts in laughter, and even I can't help but chuckle. But the fun doesn't last long.

Before Aunt Cat or Carlotta can say another word, the room goes dark despite the glass ceiling above. The chandeliers begin to shake, rattle, and roll, and a chilling silence falls over the room.

A woman's scream pierces the darkness. "The ghosts have arrived! And they're out to steal our souls!"

Panic sets in and the room erupts with screams—and a few stray barks. My sweet pooch really would try to battle an apparition or two in order to save every last woman in this room. He's going to make a great man someday.

A loud crash goes off, followed by a bang, and a few loose expletives fly as well.

The lights flicker back on, and the room is illuminated once again with natural light as well. To everyone's astonishment, Aunt Cat and Carlotta are sitting in a pile of broken china, wearing far too many clothes as a cloud of feathers dances over their heads.

"Oops," Aunt Cat says, trying to look innocent. "Didn't see that there."

Carlotta gags and gasps. "Guess we got a little carried away."

Leave it to Aunt Cat and Carlotta to manage to be the life of the party—or the afterlife, in this case.

Fiona stalks forward with her mouth hanging open before she lets out a blood-curdling scream.

And just like that, the party's over.

The party is over for Frankie "The Bull" Santoro, too, in more ways than one. But before I make him dance with a bullet or two, I need to make sure he sings like a canary.