Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (best classic books .TXT) 📗

Michael sauntered closer and leaned against a tall mirror. Darwin's loyalty crumbled entirely.

``We were going to argue,'' Darwin admitted. ``But Popo died before I could confront her.''

I sighed. ``Do you see my problem, Darwin? As far as I can figure out, you're the only person with a real motive to kill Popo.''

``Then you haven't looked very far.''

``Oh?'' 68 Nancy Martin

Darwin leaned in and whispered, ``Popo was boinking somebody.''

I tried to comprehend such an impossibility. ``You're jok- ing, right? Who would have an affair with Popo, of all people?''

Darwin looked me in the eye. ``You promise to help me get a new job if I get fired from this one?''

``I promise.''

``Okay, then. It was Mr. Rutledge.''

``Alan?'' I cried. ``You're saying Popo and Alan were seeing each other? But he's engaged to Cindie Rae.''

``He was seeing Popo before he met Cindie Rae. As soon as his parents kicked the bucket, Popo went after Mr. Rut- ledge like a barracuda. They met every week at the Four Seasons before his Wednesday matinee.'' Darwin shud- dered. ``I don't even want to imagine what that scene must have been like. But then he met Cindie Rae. And when he tried to break things off with Popo, she went ballistic.''

``Let's get this straight,'' Michael said. ``The dead lady was having a little WrestleMania with the store owner. Then she blew a fuse when he found true love with the Penthouse Pet?''

``Yes,'' said Darwin.

``So who smoked Popo?'' Michael asked.

Behind me, I heard another customer arrive at the salon door. Darwin looked up and turned a color that made me fear he had thrown an embolism. I turned to see who had come in and got hastily to my feet.

A store security guard walked in, followed by two men I knew instinctively were police officers. One wore an Eagles jacket with a green scarf double-wrapped around his neck, and the other had a Columbo-style trench coat.

The cop with the scarf showed us his badge and made a pretense of courtesy. ``Mick Abruzzo? We'd like to ask you some questions. Will you come with us, please?''

Agog, Darwin gave a squeak.

The security guard stood aside and allowed the police to do their business, but his hand rested tensely on the pistol that hung on his hip. He was a gangly young man with pale eyes and a shaved head.

``Don't go anywhere by yourself,'' Michael said to me as he departed with the police. ``I'll be out in a few hours.'' SLAY BELLES 69

I followed them out of Popo's salon, but the store secu- rity officer blocked me from entering the employees-only elevator with them. He said, ``Sorry, ma'am. You'll have to take the next car.''

``All right.'' I found myself suddenly staring at him. ``Aren't you the security guard I met night before last?''

He peered more closely at my face, and recognition dawned. ``Sure, I remember you. How are you feeling?''

In the instant before the doors met, I looked at his name tag.

It read, CALVIN REILLY.''

Calvin.

Darwin said to me, ``Are you okay? You look like you're going to faint.''

I pushed past him and ran for the escalator. Half a dozen shoppers clogged my path, but I wiggled through them all, apologizing as I headed down. At the bottom, I heard someone call my name.

``Nora! For heaven's sake, wait for me!''

Libby bore down on me, laden with shopping bags. ``I spent some time thinking last night,'' she reported without preamble, ``and I decided to return most of the things I bought so far. I don't know what came over me, but shop- ping seemed the best medicine at the time and now--My God, what's wrong?''

``I just figured out who killed Popo Prentiss.''

``What!''

``I have to hurry. The police are taking Michael now and--''

``Oh, my God, he killed Popo?''

``Of course not!''

``Then who--?''

``I don't have time to explain.'' I rushed away from her, hoping to catch the police officers before they left the store.

``Wait!'' Libby called.

I reached the main entrance of the store, plunged through the revolving door, and dashed onto the sidewalk.

And collided with the Salvation Army Santa who stood ringing his bell just outside the door. When I hit him, he gave a startled grunt and sprawled on the pavement, knock- ing his bucket off its tripod and causing such a clatter that every pedestrian for two blocks turned to look. His bell 70 Nancy Martin clanged onto the sidewalk and proceeded to bang its way into the street, where it was run over by a bus.

Libby burst out of the revolving door and crashed into me. ``Oh, my God, Nora, you've killed Santa!''

``I'm so sorry,'' I said in a gasp, kneeling down to help the poor man. ``I'm so, so sorry! Are you hurt?''

``M-merry Cwithmuth.'' Santa lay stunned on his back, blinking dazedly up at the sky.

I tried to loosen the big black button at his throat, but I couldn't paw my way through his synthetic beard. ``Oh, God, I think he's got a brain injury! Libby, call an ambulance.''

Libby dropped her shopping bags and leaned over us to peer more closely at the man in the red suit. ``He doesn't have a brain injury! His hat and wig broke the fall.''

Santa sat up unsteadily. ``Whath happem?''

``But he can't speak!'' I cried.

My sister bent down and used a Kleenex to retrieve a small item from the sidewalk. She held it up to the sunlight. ``Because he knocked out his false teeth. Here, bub, try this.''

``Twanths,'' he said, accepting his teeth. He slid them into his mouth without a care for hygiene and waggled his jaw around. Then he grinned up at Libby. ``You're a life- saver as well as a looker. Want to