Some Like It Shot (Movie Club Mysteries, Book 6) Page 2

  Assuming the threatening letters were written by an unhappy restaurant owner, and not one of her fellow food truckers, why had Theresa been targeted? Had her brusque personality antagonized someone into making personal threats? Or was she one of many food truckers to receive anonymous mail? When I spoke to the other truck owners, I’d need to verify that Theresa was the only one to receive anonymous letters. I’d also poke around to see if anyone knew about her personal life. My gut told me I’d get nothing out of her on that subject.

  Our route took us past the library and across to Smugglers Cove’s principal thoroughfare. Officially known as Greer Street, after a former mayor, it was called Main Street by the islanders, and I’d followed their example. The Movie Theater Café was located on Main Street, wedged between a greengrocer and a newsagent. A few years ago, my aunt had renovated the island’s former movie theater and transformed it into a café inspired by her passion for classic movies. The café occupied the lower level of the building, and Movie Reel Investigations had its lone office in the cinema’s old projection room.

  We soon arrived at the café. I held the door for Theresa and ushered her inside. The place was packed, and my aunt and two waitstaff were busy taking and serving orders.

  “Go on up,” I said to her, gesturing to the stairs that led up to Movie Reel Investigations. “I’ll grab a teabag from behind the counter and follow you.”

  I snagged a sachet of Irish breakfast blend from Noreen’s extensive tea collection and jogged up the stairs to my agency. When I reached the landing, Theresa stood frozen in the doorway, a hand to her mouth. Her deep tan paled from mahogany to red oak. Although her large frame blocked my view, her body language told me something was very wrong.

  A cold dread seeped into my bones. “What’s happened?”

  Theresa turned in slow motion, finally allowing me a glimpse into the office. “Murder,” she whispered. “Someone’s been murdered.”

  3

  The dead dude sprawled across my desk, face-down on a stack of unpaid bills. As a former cop, I was no stranger to the sight of death, but this crime scene took macabre to a new low. The hole at the back of his head indicated his departure from this world wasn’t natural. Blood spatter on the wall provided a backdrop to this horrific tableau. My dog added the final, grotesque touch. Bran was so intent on licking blood off the corpse’s hand that he failed to greet me with his customary bark-lick-pee frenzy.

  Beside me, Theresa emitted a low keen.

  I took a step forward and sniffed the air. “Nice try, Lenny, but the smell of the raspberry sauce is a dead giveaway—pun intended.”

  Taking this as his cue, my assistant leaped up from the desk, revealing a pockmarked face liberally decorated with boils. He beamed at us. “Isn’t my makeup awesome?”

  My would-be client’s wail turned into a blood-curdling scream.

  “Don’t worry, Theresa. It’s just my assistant fooling around.”

  My reassurances had no effect. With her gaze still fixed on Lenny, Theresa staggered back, groped for the door handle, and stumbled out of Movie Reel Investigations.

  “Thanks, man.” I glared at my assistant. “We can kiss goodbye to this month’s rent.”

  Lenny’s mouth drooped. “Sorry, Maggie. I didn’t know you’d have company. I’ll go after her and apologize.”

  “Resembling an extra in a horror B-movie? Heck, no. That’s what scared her off in the first place.”

  Mentally cursing Lenny’s newfound passion for special effects makeup, I raced for the door and bounded onto the landing. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Theresa was halfway down. I didn’t hold out much hope of persuading her to hire us after Lenny’s shenanigans. Still, I might prevent her from trashing our reputation all over Whisper Island.

  “Please wait,” I called, taking the steps two at a time. “Lenny didn’t mean—”

  At the sound of my voice, the woman whipped around, lost her footing, and stumbled. On instinct, I reached down and grabbed her arm. “Get off me,” Theresa screeched, still in fight-or-flight mode. “You’re both insane.”

  She yanked her arm free with such force that I pitched forward, barrelled into her, and sent us both hurtling down the stairs.

  We rolled into the Movie Theater Café and crash-landed against a table. The impact sent a jolt of pain through my wrist. My skirt ruched up, and tableware went flying. As the person on the top of our ungainly heap, I took the brunt of the falling debris. A hot substance sloshed over my head, burning my scalp. It smelled suspiciously like leek and potato soup, my least favorite flavor. Fabulous.

  In case Theresa’s caterwauling upstairs hadn’t already alarmed the café patrons, our unorthodox entrance put an end to their peaceful lunchtime chatter. A horrified silence gripped the room, punctuated by screeching from the people seated at the Clark Gable-themed table.

  As I drained soup from my ears, an excited child’s voice rose above the din. “Is Maggie wearing Vera Venom knickers?”

  “I think so,” a second child replied, this one with a distinct English accent and a voice I recognized. “I’ll take a closer look.”

  I closed my eyes and groaned. Knowing my fondness for a popular preteen superhero cartoon series, Liam, my boyfriend, had given me the underpants as a joke gift.

  “Hannah Patricia Reynolds, stay right where you are. You’re covered in carbonara sauce.” The woman’s crisp tones, as English as her daughter’s, identified her immediately. Robyn Reynolds.

  Jeez, Louise. Couldn’t I catch a break today? Why did the week I got behind with my laundry have to be the moment I exposed my underpants to the world? And, of all the tables I could’ve crashed into, why did it have to be the one occupied by Liam’s ex-wife?

  I tried to push myself off a groaning Theresa, but my right hand refused to cooperate. Pain seared through my wrist, and I landed face-first onto her ample chest. This further assault on her person elicited more squawks of protest from the woman who’d never be my client. Before I’d had a chance to apologize, I was pulled to my feet.

  Caoimhe Greer blinked up at me through bottle-bottom glasses liberally coated in soup. “Awesome undies, Maggie. I love The Indestructibles.”

  Hannah Reynolds nodded in agreement, her blond ponytail bobbing. “I totally need to get a pair. Vera Venom is my favorite supervillain.”

  “The only new clothes you girls need are clean ones.” Melanie Greer, Caoimhe’s mother and my teenage nemesis, stepped into view, adding another layer to my humiliation. Her dark good looks provided the perfect foil to Robyn’s petite frame and short blond hair. While Robyn appeared to have avoided the flying food, Melanie’s usual elegance was marred by a prominent soup stain on her oyster-pink dress. Both women gave me a contemptuous once-over. Their attention lingered on my exposed underpants.

  My cheeks burning, I tugged my skirt down with my uninjured hand. “Thanks, girls. Will you help me get Ms. Crawley to her feet?”

  Melanie’s lip curled. “Robyn and I will deal with Ms. Crawley. You’ve done enough damage to the poor woman for one day.”

  The unfairness of this statement stung. “I didn’t deliberately knock Theresa down the stairs. It was an accident.”

  “You’re accident-prone. I’ve never known anyone to have such regular mishaps as you do.” The sparkle in Melanie’s cat-green eyes belied her bored tone. She was enjoying my predicament.

  Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. My skin prickled under the scrutiny of several pairs of eyes. Everyone in the café was transfixed by the disaster and keen to see how the drama would play out. “It was an accident,” I repeated in a hoarse voice, my eyes watering from the pain in my wrist. “Theresa stumbled, and I tried to break her fall.”

  My gaze fell on Robyn. She said nothing, but her expression exuded disdain. I’d never warmed to Liam’s ex-wife, nor she to me. My knocking over her lunch table and getting carbonara sauce all over her daughter wouldn’t improve our relationship.

  Hannah touched
my arm. “You should sit down, Maggie. You’ve gone all white.”

  “Apart from the yellow bits from the soup,” Caoimhe added, eyeing me critically. “You look like someone puked on you.”

  I managed a laugh. “I feel like someone puked on me—after I lost a twelve-round boxing match.”

  With Hannah guiding me, I staggered to the Rita Hayworth table, wincing when I bumped my sore wrist against a chair.

  “Did you hurt your hand?” Caoimhe demanded. “Do you want me to make you a sling? We learned first aid in school last term.”

  Despite the pain, I smiled. “No to the sling, but yes to an ice pack.”

  “I’ll get one from Noreen,” Hannah announced cheerfully. “I saw her go into the kitchen right before you wrecked our table.”

  The girl darted behind the counter in search of my aunt. I helped myself to a wad of napkins and dabbed at my face. After the sand, rain, and soup, I needed a shower.

  Robyn and Melanie hauled Theresa off the floor and installed her at the table opposite mine. She collapsed onto a chair and dabbed at her soup-stained clothes with a wad of napkins. When she caught my eye, she glared at me. “Movie Reel Investigations, indeed. You can’t investigate your way down a flight of stairs without causing chaos. And as for your assistant—” Theresa pinched her nose as though she’d encountered a bad smell, “—the man’s insane.”

  As if on cue, Lenny chose this moment to amble down to the café. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Lenny seemed oblivious to the effect his appearance had on the café’s customers. He circled the disaster zone, gingerly avoiding getting soup on his sneakers. “Whoa, Maggie. What happened?”

  “Theresa and Maggie fell down the stairs, and everyone saw Maggie’s knickers.” Caoimhe delivered this summary in a single breath.

  Lenny whistled. “So that was what all the crashing and banging was about. I wondered.”

  “Nice of you to come and check on us,” I said dryly.

  My assistant indicated a red streak on his face. “I was trying to remove my makeup, but it won’t come off.”

  “Look at the state of him,” Theresa screeched, pointing at Lenny. “He pretended he was a murder victim. He ought to be locked up.”

  A hurt expression clouded Lenny’s face. “Steady on. I was only pranking Maggie.”

  “I think Lenny’s done a fab job with his special effects makeup,” Hannah piped up. “He’s gotten much better since he did that zombie look for the last Unplugged Gamers meeting.”

  Lenny beamed at this praise. “Thanks, Hannah. I’ve been practicing every day.”

  Theresa’s mouth opened and closed like an outraged carp. Before the woman had a chance to expound on her opinion of Lenny’s mental health, Noreen emerged from the kitchen, clutching an ice pack. In her mid-fifties, my aunt was short and cuddly with jet-black curls and a zest for life that belied her years.

  With a practiced eye, she assessed the wreckage of the Clark Gable table and its former occupants. “I’ll give you gift vouchers for the café,” Noreen said to Melanie and Robyn, “and cover the cost of your dry cleaning. Would you like to stay for lunch if we seat you at a different table? The meal’s on the house.”

  Melanie and Robyn exchanged glances. “I’d rather go home and change,” Melanie said finally. “The girls need showers.”

  “In that case, I’ll get one of my staff to pack a takeout lunch for you all, including dessert. The girls love our caramel squares.”

  “Well,” Melanie began, indecision flickering across her perfectly made-up face. “I suppose—”

  “Excellent,” Noreen declared. “That’s settled. Go up to the counter and tell Grainne what you want to take home.”

  Melanie opened her mouth as if to object, but Caoimhe cut her off. “Awesome. Hannah and I will choose.”

  The girls dashed to the counter, leaving their mothers to cast final looks of disgust in my direction before muttering a general goodbye and joining their daughters.

  After they left, I took the ice pack from Noreen. “I’m sorry for the chaos. I’ll reimburse you for the damage and for the food.”

  “Never mind about that, love. Give me a look at your wrist.”

  I held out my right hand for examination. My aunt gently prodded the injured area, provoking an involuntary squawk from me. “You need to get this wrist checked by a doctor. It might be broken. Melanie was a nurse. Should I call her back to take a look?”

  I shuddered at the prospect. “Gosh, no. I’ve had enough of her snarky comments to last me all summer.”

  Noreen glanced at her watch. “The lunchtime rush won’t die down for another thirty minutes. Can you drive Maggie to the medical center, Lenny?”

  He cast a nervous glance at the glowering Theresa and bounced from one foot to the other. “Sure. I drove the van to work today.”

  A loud harrumph drew our attention back to Theresa. “Why are you all making a fuss of her?” she demanded, glaring at me. “If anyone sees a doctor, it should be me. My back’s in a terrible state after that fall. I should sue you and your ridiculous Movie Reel Investigations.”

  Between Melanie’s snarky comments, Theresa’s outrageous accusations, and the all-consuming pain, I’d had enough. “Go ahead and try,” I snapped. “You stumbled, I tried to break your fall, and you pulled us both down the stairs. If you want to come with us to the medical center, I’m sure we can squeeze you into the van.”

  Theresa wrinkled her nose and cast Lenny a venomous look. “And be driven by that lunatic? I think not. I’ll find my own way.”

  “Whatever works for you.” I got to my feet and addressed Lenny. “I’ll clean up and then we can get going.”

  He tugged on his scraggly goatee. “Works for me. While you get ready, I’ll see if Noreen or one of the kitchen staff has an effective makeup remover.”

  Leaving Theresa muttering under her breath, I headed for the stairs. The smell of soup from my clothes and hair was overpowering. Unfortunately, I had no spare clothes in the office. I’d rifle through Lenny’s extensive collection of disguises and borrow one of his less outrageous outfits. As neither our office nor the café had a shower, I’d have to make do with hand soap and a sink.

  Undressing one-handed proved to be trickier than I’d anticipated, not to mention sheer agony. I should’ve swallowed my pride and asked Lenny to help. When I finally wrestled off my skirt, the corner of an envelope protruding from my skirt pocket caught my eye. My stomach sank. I’d forgotten the anonymous letter. After today’s adventure, I’d been hoping to avoid Theresa for the rest of the summer. Now I’d have to return it to her.

  Careful to avoid staining the envelope with soup, I eased it out of the skirt pocket. The lashing rain had prevented me from reading it when Theresa had given it to me, and I was itching to see its contents. I fingered the roughly torn slit. Should I take a peek? After Lenny’s antics and our tumble down the stairs, the woman would never hire me. I had no business reading her letter.

  On the other hand, she hadn’t asked for it back—yet. Curiosity quickened my pulse and overcame my better judgment. I slid the note from the envelope.

  The crudely pasted letters were neon Comic Sans, perhaps cut from a children’s catalog. The message they bore was anything but comical. I scanned the words, and a shiver snaked down my spine.

  “TICKTOCK, THERESA. YOU HAVE 48 HOURS LEFT TO LIVE.”

  4

  Thirty minutes after I’d flashed the café, Lenny and I arrived at the Whisper Island Medical Centre. Housed in a whitewashed bungalow, the center was the island’s only medical facility. It employed two family doctors, a nurse, a physical therapist, a part-time psychologist, and admin staff.

  This morning, Melanie Greer’s bosom buddy, Rita Ahearn, sat behind the reception desk, sipping tea and perusing a magazine. My sister’s sultry gaze stared out from the glossy pages—svelte, styled, perfect. In contrast, I looked like an escapee from a circus. Courtesy of their close encounter with hand soap, my curls r
esembled frizzy slugs. Adding to my unique look, I was wearing the only semi-tame outfit I’d found in Lenny’s costume collection. This consisted of a pair of baggy clown pants teamed with an oversized sequinned shirt.

  Judging by her slack-jawed incredulity at the sight of me, Rita agreed with my critical self-assessment. “What happened to your hair?” she demanded. “Did you electrocute yourself?”

  “She took a tumble down the stairs,” Lenny explained.

  I raised my injured wrist as proof and gasped at the stab of pain the movement induced.

  The receptionist regarded me with the wariness of a hunter confronted by its prey. “A sore hand doesn’t explain Maggie’s outfit. Did she bang her head on the way down?”

  Man alive, I needed a restart on my day. “Can you give me an appointment, Rita? My wrist hurts like a mother—” I caught sight of a toddler staring out at me from the waiting room. No need to scar the child for life with my language as well as my appearance. “My wrist might be broken.”

  Rita treated me to a thorough visual examination before switching her attention to her screen. “Both our doctors are fully booked today. I’ll have to squeeze you in between appointments.”

  “I can wait.” I grimaced. “I don’t have a choice.”

  Her hot-pink fingernails clacked across the keyboard. “I’ll put you after Dr. Casey’s three o’clock appointment.”

  Under the circumstances, an hour’s wait wasn’t too bad. “Thanks, Rita.”

  “Before you two take a seat, I have a question for Maggie.” The receptionist opened a drawer beneath her desk and extracted the latest issue of the Whisper Island Gazette. She tapped a talon on the front-page headline. “I’ve applied to be an extra in your sister’s film, and I’m still waiting to hear back. Have you any clout with the casting decisions?”