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I’m about to answer when I note his denim suit has done another disappearing act. That’s the second time this evening—and in a short span of time at that. I’d like to know what the heck is going on myself.
“You’ve changed again?” I ask, stunned by the spontaneous fashion show Ransom seems to be putting on. An odd question granted, seeing that there’s a dead body between us.
“Hear that?” Nettie elbows Bess. “She’s talking menswear, and you said there’s no time to discuss greed.”
Bess huffs, “Now that you mention it, on the hierarchy of a dead woman’s needs, greed does hit a touch higher on the list than fashion.” The whites of her eyes dart my way. “Why in the world would you care if he’s changed his clothes at a time like this?”
Ransom quirks a brow while inputting something into his phone. “I’m wondering the same thing.”
Nettie slaps her hands together as if she’s had the epiphany of the century. “It’s a diversion!” She wags a crooked finger at me. “I knew it. You did the deadly deed. In fact, I bet you’ve been the killer all along.”
“I’m not the killer,” I say to Ransom. “Don’t you dare put me on the suspect list.”
“He may not, but I will if I have to,” a female voice bleats from above and we look up to find Quinn Riddle with her dark hair pulled back so tight her skin is taut and without lines or wrinkles. A styling device I might be moved to try myself one day. I may never want to go under the knife, but I’m not opposed to a temporary face lift. “What’s going on?” She shines the light from her phone over the scene and moans. “Not another one.”
“It’s another one, all right,” Nettie growls. “And good ol’ Trixie here didn’t even have the decency to let us watch her take the woman down.”
“Would you stop? I didn’t kill her.” It comes out defensive as I look to both Ransom and Quinn. “And furthermore, this might not be a homicide. She could have died of natural causes.”
“I’d surmise the same thing,” Quinn says.
“Thank you.” I give an indignant huff to the others.
“But”—Quinn lifts a finger my way—“seeing that you’re on the scene, I’d beg to differ. I’ll call security to cordon off the area and drain the room.”
Ransom helps me to my feet just as Captain Crawford arrives.
“What’s going on?” he pants, winded from the jog over.
“Another one bites the dust,” Nettie offers. “Trixie the Exterminator strikes again.”
My lips part, but I’m too flabbergasted to offer up a comeback.
“Do not call her that,” Bess reprimands her old friend. “She’s more of a skilled assassin.”
My jaw unhinges, and yet I’m still too stymied to defend my honor.
“Trixie?” The captain’s eyes double in size.
I shake my head at him. “She may have passed out and hit her head. I’m betting that’s what happened. The human temple is one of the most tender areas on the human body. You’d be surprised by how many deaths occur each year from a simple fall.”
“And she’s rife with justification,” Nettie mummers.
Bess nods. “And good ones at that. We should watch our backs.”
“And our temples,” Nettie points out.
I huff at the thought, “Really?”
Nettie winks my way, assuring me we’re still friends, or in the least still on for a lava cake raid of the Blue Water Café later tonight. And judging by the lethal trajectory my night has taken, I’ll need six or twelve to calm me down. That might sound greedy as Nettie pointed out, but when I get stressed out, I feel the need for chocolate and carbs and that lava cake happens to specialize in both.
“Attention, one and all!” Quinn flashes her badge at the crowd. “Please exit the Diamond Lounge immediately. We have a situation that needs to be handled delicately.”
Soft murmurs and light screams erupt as the rock music continues to bleat overhead.
Ransom nods my way. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Wes steps in close. “I’d like to know myself. That’s Julia Edwards,” he says as if I had the nerve to bump off one of the most popular, or rather unpopular, celebrities of all time.
