Murder Wears a Little Black Dress by Debra Sennefelder

Author:Debra Sennefelder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-08-14T10:51:52+00:00

Chapter 13

Kelly had every intention of returning to the boutique when she drove away from Frankie’s restaurant and every intention of keeping her long-standing tradition of staying away from the Thirsty Turtle. So why on earth was she parked in the gravel driveway of the bar?

The niggling thought that the Singers were somehow involved in the mess of Maxine’s murder poked at her. What if Bernadette’s vision was real and Irene did kill her husband and, fearing discovery, Irene intended to kill Bernadette but made a mistake and killed Maxine? Yeah, there were a lot of “ifs,” but her theory was plausible.

As plausible as her theory was, there was no evidence to support it, and finding any at the seedy bar was unlikely. She looked around the parking lot. A handful of rusty cars and battered pickup trucks were parked haphazardly. Lunchtime looked like it drew a crowd. She gathered up her nerve and pulled the keys out of the ignition and made her way to the front door of the bar.

The Thirsty Turtle was a box of a building painted three colors—red, white, and blue. Very patriotic. Chipped and dirty, the paint had seen better days. A sign with the bar’s name hung over one of the two front windows, and a glass door in need of a washing was the entrance to the dimly lit establishment.

Kelly stepped over the blackened threshold, and her nose was assaulted by a strong whiff of cigarette smoke and beer and a hint of sea air. Her eyes watered as she adjusted to the uncomfortable odor. The place needed fresh air, maybe a window should be opened. Surveying the bar, it didn’t look like anyone else had a problem with the stale air.

About five men, all sporting scruffy beards and beer bellies, were seated at the bar chowing down on hamburgers and fries and guzzling beer, while a few tables had other diners eating the same meal. Huh. Not much of a menu.

No one seemed to notice her. Maybe she looked like she belonged. Somehow, she’d had the foresight to dress appropriately for her trip to the bar. Yeah, animal-print leggings and a leather jacket were dive bar chic.

“You lost, hon?” a crusty old bald bartender asked as he wiped down the bar with a towel.

Okay, she didn’t look like she belonged in the dive bar. No doubt, the black cashmere sweater was too much. It was too late to turn and leave. Besides, she’d passed by worse on her way from the subway to her apartment in the city. She could handle a bartender in the suburbs of Long Island and the lunchtime crowd, who turned their gazes in her direction.

With all eyes on her, she squared her shoulders and sauntered to the bar. “No. I’m not lost. I’m looking for someone.” She tossed back her head, her hair skimming over her shoulders, and stood confidently.

The crusty old bartender smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealed a snake tattoo along his forearm.

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