Swan Dive by Kendel Lynn Page B

longer,” I said. “The little ones left within fifteen minutes. And they wore just as much makeup.”
    “You think Matty will ever be okay with your PI sideline?”
    “He used to be, before the Hirschorn murder in May.”
    “Which also happens to be the first time he kissed you. Coincidence, Miss Marple?”
    I stuffed a handful of popcorn in my mouth and shrugged. Matty’s kiss that night wasn’t of the goodnight, see you tomorrow variety. It was a throw me down, hands up my dress, let’s get it on kind. And I had loved it.
    “Matty said it was just a coincidence that Lexie’s boyfriend’s mother grew a garden of death berries, the same ones that killed her.”
    “And you don’t believe in coincidences?”
    “I do. Small ones, not big ones. And a boyfriend living in a house ten feet from a patch of rare killer fruit that took his girlfriend’s life is a big one.”
    “How rare is this killer fruit?” Sid asked and took a swig from a water bottle.
    “Rare enough. Mamacita said it grows on the side of the road, but Vigo didn’t need to go berry picking in the wild thicket along I-95. He only had to step outside his back door.”
    “And the police are sure that’s what killed her?”
    “Harry Fleet confirmed poisoning, though the tox results won’t be back until after the New Year.”
    “So no surprises?”
    “No surprises there,” I said and gulped down water from my own bottle. “The surprise came from the dry cleaner. Lexie Allen worked as a sous chef at the Wharf.”
    “The dry cleaner told you this?”
    “I showed Lexie’s stub to the dry cleaner who handed me two white chef’s coats from the Wharf. Went over to talk to Chef Carmichael and he told me.”
    “Seriously? She was a chef? And a dancer? And a college student? How old was this girl?”
    “Seriously. Nineteen. According to Carmichael, she moved from Charlotte in November to work for him. I don’t know if she dropped out or transferred. The only university around here is USC, and I don’t think the satellite campus offers a full dance program.”
    “Probably not,” she said.
    We each hit the halfway spot of our popcorn and switched bags. “There’s more,” I said. “Lexie was auditioning for some kind of cook-off in Savannah. Her fellow sous chef, an unfriendly girl with blue hair named Rory, was her main competition. And get this, the competition is tomorrow.”
    “Get out.”
    “Yep.” I stopped mid-reach into the bag and pointed toward the door. “Here they come.”
    Seven people trouped out, including Vigo, Courtney, and Berg. They shuffled over to a cluster of cars parked in the first row. We were four spots over to their right and three rows back.
    “You think they’ll go out?” I asked.
    “Nah. Their friend just died. They look kind of solemn.”
    Sid’s car windows were all down, but we couldn’t hear what they were saying, only a low rumble of voices as the group leaned on cars, heads mostly down.
    “Yeah, probably go back to their condo and order a pizza,” I said. We sat in silence and watched the dancers brood. “You’re a good friend to pick me up and help me. I know it’s kind of boring sometimes.”
    She waved me off. “No big. I was binge watching tv again. Addicted to Hannibal .”
    “You finished Alias ?”
    “I’m on a Gina Torres kick. Watched all of Suits . Fabulous, by the way, thanks for the recommendation. Now I’m on Hannibal . Did you know Gina’s married to Lawrence Fishburne in real life?”
    “I did not know,” I said. “Hey, they’re leaving.”
    “Should we follow?”
    “Sure, we put in this much time, might as well see it through.”
    Vigo, Courtney and Berg got into separate cars. Within seconds, red taillights lit up and the cars backed out. They drove in a straight line diagonally across the lot and onto Cabana Boulevard.
    “Well, not going to the condo,” Sid said after they passed the turnaround and headed toward the south side of the island.
    Traffic was