Perforating Pierre by Pamela Burford

Author:Pamela Burford [Burford, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781939215871
Publisher: Radical Poodle Press
Published: 2016-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

10

He Really Stepped in It

“ONE PAPAYA GINGER smoothie, large.” Cheyenne O’Rourke set a plastic cup in front of me. “One Dracula Special, large.” This one was for Victor, who sat across from me at a blond-wood bistro table placed next to the huge picture windows overlooking Crystal Harbor’s Main Street. He’d decided to work from home that day and I’d persuaded him to take an afternoon break at Janey’s Place, Dom’s health-food joint. It was a warm, welcoming space decorated in the store’s signature light beige and apple-green, and fragrant with the soups, salads, and blended drinks that drew discerning vegetarians from miles around. Plus regular meat-eating folks like us who enjoy the pleasant ambience and occasional healthier alternative to pizza and orange soda.

Victor eyed his drink dubiously. “I didn’t know it would look so…”

“Disgusting,” Cheyenne helpfully supplied. Today the girl’s well-nourished form had been poured into red-and-white-striped leggings—was the circus in town already?—and ultra-high stiletto ankle boots crisscrossed top to bottom with buckled straps. Her apple-green Janey’s Place tee-shirt was tied tight at the midriff, exposing a pale roll of bare muffin top.

I didn’t bother advising her not to describe the food she served in terms that were so, well, honest. She’d been working for Dom for seven months. By this point he was well aware of her shortcomings, but nice guy that he was, he kept her on despite them. Some people might view his tolerance as weakness, but I thought it was sweet. More than sweet, it was indicative of the kind of man he was. Despite all he’d accomplished, Dom had never let his success go to his head. He never forgot what he owed his family, his town, his friends who’d stood by him, and yes, even me, his ex-wife. He always gave back.

Whoever said a touch of humility couldn’t be sexy?

Victor said, “I assumed ‘Dracula Special’ is just a silly name.”

“It looks like blood,” Cheyenne said. “That’s why they call it—”

“Yes, thank you, Cheyenne,” I said. “We get it.” The stuff was a blend of carrot, orange, and beet juices. It was chock-full of vitamins and supposedly great for your blood pressure and circulation and all that.

“You want anything else?” she asked.

You mean besides an IV bag and needle? One look at Victor’s face was enough to call forth my inner Pushy American. Without consulting him, I shoved his drink back at Cheyenne. “Take this away and bring him one of these.” I indicated my papaya-ginger smoothie, thick and pale orange, which I knew from experience was as sweet and yummy as a milk shake and would in no way remind him of his brother’s murder scene.

“He doesn’t want the Dracula stuff?” she asked.

“It’s not his type.”

As she tottered away, Victor produced a cell phone, which I recognized as Swing’s. “I’ve been going through Pierre’s emails and texts,” he said. “Also his calendar.”

“Find anything interesting?” I stuck the straw into my drink.

“Not really,” he said. “Nothing on his social media either.”

“No posts like ‘So-and-so wants to do me in, I’d better watch my back’?”

“If only it were that simple.

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