Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) by Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby
Authors: Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby
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began to flip through the pages. "But it has a bunch of men's names in it."
I looked over her shoulder. "Maybe it's the brothel's client list?"
She turned to the front of the book. "It was printed in 2013, so it had to be Vinnie's."
My eyes widened. "He slept with men too?"
"Please!" Gia waved. "Based on what I've heard about him and the so-called 'ladies of Danger Cove,' he wouldn't have had the time or the energy."
"Yeah." I put my hands on my hips. "Because it's not like he discriminated based on age."
"Hey. Look at this," she said, pointing to a page. "Beside the list of names there's a column of numbers marked bd. Whaddaya suppose the bd stands for?"
"Uh, birthday ?"
"Nah, it's probably two words."
I bent my head in thought. "Oh my gosh." I grabbed Gia's arm. "Do you think it stands for blue dye ?"
Gia went completely still, and then she shook her head. "It can't be. I mean, what would all these numbers represent? The bottles of blue hair dye these men were buying from The Yankee Clipper? You and I both know that there just aren't that many people wanting blue hair."
"Yeah, and there wouldn't be any reason to hide the book, either. So, do you think those numbers have to do with money? Like for bets or something?"
"That's it!" Gia snapped the book shut. "Vinnie was a bookie! And this is a record of the bets he was placing for his clients in Atlantic City."
"Maybe the b is for 'bets,' and the d could be for dollars. So, like 'bet dollars' or 'bet in dollars'?"
"You're a natural-born sleuth, Cass."
"But this is all just conjecture."
Gia sat on the barstool. "No, we're onto something. I can feel it. And you have to admit that it fits with what Carla said about the mob."
I hated to think that my uncle could have been involved in organized crime, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. The Mafia had a long and storied history in Atlantic City. "If he was mixed up with the mob, do you think they put a hit on him for some reason?"
She nodded. "And maybe Margaret too."
"Here at the salon?" I sank onto the couch. "I can't believe that."
Gia shook the book at me. "If the two of them were connected, then it's possible. And you heard what Duncan said about Margaret's millions. How did a little old lady get so much money?"
"Those are good questions," I said as I massaged my temples to keep my head from spinning. "But I still need some kind of proof."
She threw her arms into the air. "Then let's go get it."
I looked up, surprised. "Where?"
"Margaret's house," she said, flipping her hair. "Where else?"
"Gia, we can't just go break in. That's a crime."
She crossed her arms. "Would you do it if your life depended on it?"
"Well, of course, but—"
"Then go change," she said, pointing in the direction of my room. "Bring a pair of gloves, and wear something dark and slinky."
I stared at her as the horrible reality dawned on me—Gia, my happy-go-lucky cousin who saw only life's possibilities and never its problems, thought my life was in danger.
I stood up on shaky legs and did as I was told.
* * *
"This place looks even more like a friggin' gingerbread house than Amy's," Gia whispered as we crouched behind an ocean spray bush in back of Margaret's thatched Victorian cottage. "I wouldn't be surprised if the windowpanes were made of sugar."
"We can always go back to the car," I said, hoping she'd agree. I hadn't stopped shaking since we'd arrived, and it had nothing to do with the chilly night air.
"We came here for evidence, and we're not leaving until we get some. Now, wait here while I try to find a way inside."
"Gladly," I muttered. While Gia worked her way around the house, I tried to formulate a search strategy. The problem was that I had no idea what we were looking for. It was possible that Bertha had sent Margaret a threatening letter or something along those lines. But I didn't have the faintest idea what would tie her to my uncle. A betting ticket? Or a hotel receipt? I
I looked over her shoulder. "Maybe it's the brothel's client list?"
She turned to the front of the book. "It was printed in 2013, so it had to be Vinnie's."
My eyes widened. "He slept with men too?"
"Please!" Gia waved. "Based on what I've heard about him and the so-called 'ladies of Danger Cove,' he wouldn't have had the time or the energy."
"Yeah." I put my hands on my hips. "Because it's not like he discriminated based on age."
"Hey. Look at this," she said, pointing to a page. "Beside the list of names there's a column of numbers marked bd. Whaddaya suppose the bd stands for?"
"Uh, birthday ?"
"Nah, it's probably two words."
I bent my head in thought. "Oh my gosh." I grabbed Gia's arm. "Do you think it stands for blue dye ?"
Gia went completely still, and then she shook her head. "It can't be. I mean, what would all these numbers represent? The bottles of blue hair dye these men were buying from The Yankee Clipper? You and I both know that there just aren't that many people wanting blue hair."
"Yeah, and there wouldn't be any reason to hide the book, either. So, do you think those numbers have to do with money? Like for bets or something?"
"That's it!" Gia snapped the book shut. "Vinnie was a bookie! And this is a record of the bets he was placing for his clients in Atlantic City."
"Maybe the b is for 'bets,' and the d could be for dollars. So, like 'bet dollars' or 'bet in dollars'?"
"You're a natural-born sleuth, Cass."
"But this is all just conjecture."
Gia sat on the barstool. "No, we're onto something. I can feel it. And you have to admit that it fits with what Carla said about the mob."
I hated to think that my uncle could have been involved in organized crime, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. The Mafia had a long and storied history in Atlantic City. "If he was mixed up with the mob, do you think they put a hit on him for some reason?"
She nodded. "And maybe Margaret too."
"Here at the salon?" I sank onto the couch. "I can't believe that."
Gia shook the book at me. "If the two of them were connected, then it's possible. And you heard what Duncan said about Margaret's millions. How did a little old lady get so much money?"
"Those are good questions," I said as I massaged my temples to keep my head from spinning. "But I still need some kind of proof."
She threw her arms into the air. "Then let's go get it."
I looked up, surprised. "Where?"
"Margaret's house," she said, flipping her hair. "Where else?"
"Gia, we can't just go break in. That's a crime."
She crossed her arms. "Would you do it if your life depended on it?"
"Well, of course, but—"
"Then go change," she said, pointing in the direction of my room. "Bring a pair of gloves, and wear something dark and slinky."
I stared at her as the horrible reality dawned on me—Gia, my happy-go-lucky cousin who saw only life's possibilities and never its problems, thought my life was in danger.
I stood up on shaky legs and did as I was told.
* * *
"This place looks even more like a friggin' gingerbread house than Amy's," Gia whispered as we crouched behind an ocean spray bush in back of Margaret's thatched Victorian cottage. "I wouldn't be surprised if the windowpanes were made of sugar."
"We can always go back to the car," I said, hoping she'd agree. I hadn't stopped shaking since we'd arrived, and it had nothing to do with the chilly night air.
"We came here for evidence, and we're not leaving until we get some. Now, wait here while I try to find a way inside."
"Gladly," I muttered. While Gia worked her way around the house, I tried to formulate a search strategy. The problem was that I had no idea what we were looking for. It was possible that Bertha had sent Margaret a threatening letter or something along those lines. But I didn't have the faintest idea what would tie her to my uncle. A betting ticket? Or a hotel receipt? I
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