Death of a Hot Chick

A Cyd Denlinger Mystery

by Norma Huss

Copyright 2011 Norma Jean Huss

Smashwords Edition

Praise for
Death of a Hot Chick

“
Hot review for a hot chick!

“
This who-dunnit will keep you amused
and interested all the way through. It has a paranormal touch, as
well as a strong, independent and likable heroine who is torn in
many directions as she tries to figure things out. If people would
just leave her alone, it would be so much easier, but there’s her
ex-boyfriend, her sister, her mother, her father, a nosy
neighbor...and lots of info about boating that maybe you didn’t
know. I didn’t! All in all–a fun read!”

Joan C. Afman, author of
The Last Time We Were Here

“
The opening truly grabbed
me.

By paragraph two I was hooked.”

“
I LOVE the cover--your book is
beautiful and wonderful, too”

“
Reading a novel that takes place in
a

marina was new to me and very
interesting!”

“
Your writing (Voice of Cyd) is
so

flip and fresh--lots of fun to read.”

Death of a Hot Chick
by Norma Huss

Editor: Joan C. Afman

Editor: Sharon Roat

Editor: Ramona DeFelice Long

Cover: Donna Hedricks

Format: Donna Hedricks

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition licensing notes:

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of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To my husband Dick, who makes everything
possible.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my writing communities of
Pennwriters, Inc. And Sisters in Crime, especially the Guppy
Chapter. Thanks also go to my beta reader, Charmie Gomaa. Special
thanks go to my daughter, Donna Hedricks, for the cover, format,
and a bit of nudging encouragement, and my daughter Sharon Roat,
for editing, critiquing, and more encouragement. Thanks to the
professionals: Editors Joan C. Afman and Ramona DeFelice Long.
Thanks to Dr. D. P. Lyle, who answered my medical questions and
Leslie Budewitz, who answered my legal questions. Any errors of
fact are mine alone.

However, before all the rest, Katie
Morin allowed me to set my mystery on the boat I fell in love
with,
Snapdragon
, belonging to
her and her husband John. She only requested one condition. Perhaps
she should have asked for more!

The boat needed a lot of work, which was
good. I needed to scrub, wax, polish and definitely not think.
First on my agenda: get serious with a stiff brush.

And get serious with myself. Okay, I was a
widow at twenty-eight. I’d done all the grieving when Al left me,
months before he managed to accidently kill himself. I was
completely over my former life. Settled all the debts he left,
started fresh and new. With nothing.

“
Recovery,” was the word they’d used.
As in recover your equilibrium for God’s sake. Survive the sorrow
and look for a bright tomorrow. Like I was some kind of war orphan
who’d lost everything—including the shirt on her back.

So not me.

“
Work,” was my word. Work and think of
anything else. Think of the steaming July heat. I stood on the
cabin roof, aimed the hose at my bare toes. Water drained in
streaks as it gushed overboard and left dried bird stains. I
splashed my knees, then my arms. Think of my T-shirt, sweaty and
dirty. I lifted the hose, doused my shirt front, and shuddered as
the dampness seeped through.

“
Exorcism,” was an even better word. I
stood tall, shook my fist, and hollered, “Begone, Al. I hope you’re
in hell.”

Which was not the best time to see someone
headed my way.

Nicole Joline flounced toward me. My
boss. And owner of
Snapdragon
,
a 31-footer berthed at Smith Harbor Marina on Chesapeake Bay.
Looking just like the girl Al ditched me for. Younger, blonder, and
way richer than me. All that Nicole was. Which wasn’t
her
fault.

She ignored my outburst and said, “Cyd.
What’s your problem? And why couldn’t you just tell me over the
phone?”

I swallowed my first impulse of, “You want a
list?” Her almost white-blond hair, her skin-tight jeans, and that
shimmering silk blouse made me aware that I looked and smelled like
a wet rat. However, I hopped down to face her eye-to-eye.

“
As of now I’m dead broke. I can’t
keep working on your boat if you don’t pay me something up
front.”

“
That’s it?” Nicole asked. “Just send
me a bill. You know I’m good for it.”

“
So you keep telling me.” Not for the
first time, I wondered why I’d ever agreed to work for the owner of
a lobster trawler on a bay known for blue crabs and not a single
lobster. Didn’t help a bit that the boat was rigged out as a
cruiser instead of a working boat. I said, “Okay, here’s the deal.
I spent fifty-two dollars on cleaning supplies and parts this
morning. I can’t eat soap.”

“
I didn’t realize you were working for
food money,” Nicole said, like that wasn’t a reasonable goal. She
dug into the back pocket of her designer jeans and pulled out a few
bills. “I can give you twenty, no, twenty-two dollars this minute.”
She hesitated before adding, “Staying here, on the boat, that helps
you with expenses, doesn’t it?”

Twenty-two dollars? That wasn’t even gas
money for her Porsche. I took a deep breath. I would stay calm.
Reasonable. “That two thousand dollars we agreed on was for my
time. Parts and supplies are extra. You can pay me the two thousand
when the job is done, but I can’t do the job without the supplies.
You need to pay for those. Now.”

Nicole widened her eyes, and put on a smile
that practically blinded me. “Of course. It’s just that...I’m a
little short of cash right now. I’m rather highly leveraged at the
moment, and....”

The door was behind me. I turned and
stepped inside. I would not blow up. I’d better calm down. Big
time. But—her excuses? She’d just had a new dinghy delivered and
managed to pay for
that
somehow.

Nicole came after me and grabbed my arm.
“Look, I’ll get you the money when I sell the boat. Two months max.
Promise.”

I turned, shaking off her arm.
“
Snapdragon
won’t sell in two
months. Not with this economy.”

Nicole stepped back, then stroked her hair
for a moment before her eyes lit up. “How about this? I’ll make you
part owner. I’ll add your name to the title on the boat, and when
it sells, you’ll get your money. Plus a nice bonus. How does that
sound?”

“
Ah... like overkill?”

“
We can do it right now. I have the
title.” She pulled a plastic bag out of her other hip pocket,
unzipped it, and grabbed my pen from the counter. “But we’ll need a
witness. That man I saw working on a boat. What’s his
name?”

“
That’s probably Wes, the marina
manager. But this is....”

Nicole turned, darted out the door, and took
off down the dock.

This was too weird. Was she seriously going
to sign half a boat over to me? “I’d really rather have the money
now,” I yelled after her.

Nicole didn’t stop. She’d found Wes who was
applying non-skid paint to a racing sailboat deck. When I caught up
to her, she was signing the title in front of Wes. With my pen,
which she thrust toward me, pointing to a blank line on the back of
the title.

“
This is ridiculous,” I said, but I
signed and even put the time. Wes shrugged and signed to prove he’d
witnessed our signatures.

Nicole folded the paper. “See how easy that
was?” she said. “I’ll take it to my lawyer tomorrow.”

I had no idea what the lawyer would do with
the thing, and honestly, I didn’t care. At the moment I was only
thinking as far as my next meal. “I’m still out thirty bucks.”

“
Oh. Right.” Nicole pressed a finger
to her lips. She nodded, and added, “I’ll get another thirty
dollars and return tonight after nine.”

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure the nod
meant anything.

Nicole flashed that killer grin in all
directions. “This is a brilliant idea. The wording on the title
makes either you or me the owner. Or, both of us together. This
will absolutely work!”

Wes shook his head and went back to his
painting.

“
Cyd, I’ll see you tonight,” Nicole
said as she handed me my pen. She zipped the title back into the
plastic bag and slid it into her left hip pocket.

“
Thanks, I guess.” Did I trust her?
But, what were my options?

Nicole took my hand, looked into my eyes
intently, and said, “You will be paid.”

I hesitated. She pulled a chain from her
neck and lifted the pendant. “This is a friendship ring.” Her eyes
misted as she stared at the small, twisted ring in her hand. “My
best friend Michelle died of leukemia when we were kids. Our two
rings fit together as perfectly as our love for each other. It’s my
dearest possession. Believe me, I don’t say this lightly. I
promise, on this ring, that I will take care of everything.” She
tucked the ring inside her blouse and smiled with way too much
confidence.

Her soft voice rocked with sincerity. Was
that why she was successful in her business? I guess that’s why I
started working for her in the first place. I needed a job, my
sister Kaye knew and trusted her and, I trusted Kaye. But—Nicole
didn’t understand my need for money any more than I understood her
disregard of it.

“
I’ll be back after nine,” she
said.

“
I know,” I said, impulsively matching
her tone. “That money will help. It will be dark when you come
back, so I’ll watch for you.”

Did I believe that Nicole meant well or not?
She was definitely clueless when it came to boats. And the unrich.
But she owned a sweet little boat that needed a huge dose of TLC.
Okay, once she was out of sight, I wondered if I’d been taken. And,
like, how hokey was her promise?

I almost gave up on any more cleaning for
the day. Finally, I hauled my stuff back on top of the cabin,
dipped my brush into the bucket of water and grabbed the soap.

~
~

A couple of hours later, I’d moved to the
bow with the cleaning bucket when I heard, “Hey, Cyd. You’re
looking good.”

My friend Teddy stood on the finger
pier right next to
Snapdragon
.
She had to be kidding. “Hardly true.” I sat back on my bare heels
and dumped the rag into the bucket. “Did you ever see so much
dirt?” I meant the boat, but that could have included
me.

“
Sure. Yesterday when I stopped by.
Where were you?”

“
Finishing up a job at Bayside Marina.
You were here two days in a row? I suspect something’s
up.”

“
You are so right.” She stepped on
deck, then, before disappearing inside the cabin, added,
“Coming?”

She must have something good. I scurried
aft, grabbed a mostly dry towel, wiped muddy water from my elbows
and feet, then ducked through the open hatch. “Okay, out with
it.”

“
I have a column. All my own. ‘Teddy
Tonight.’ I’ll reveal the seamy underbelly of Smith Harbor—the
highs and lows of a culture that is never seen under the brightly
shining sun. The column starts tomorrow, so I’m out researching
tonight.”