Bad Haircult: SILVER HILLS COZY MYSTERIES, #5

By Sam Cheever

Come to Silver Hills. Where a bad hair day could end up costing you your life.

If you were a "mature" individual with a mighty fine bouff, would you consider shaving your head to solve a case of possible murder? That's the million dollar question for Flo and Agnes as they find themselves neck deep in missing Satanists, scheming cultists, and a long string of seriously bad hair days. But what's a sleuth to do when the queen of the night comes to them pleading…erm…threatening…ahhh…pleatening them for help? If you know Flo and Agnes you already know the answer to that question. They're goin' in!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Electric Prose Publications
• Release date: Apr 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635879681

Sam Cheever

Nobody really cares that Sam Cheever is a USA Today Bestselling Author. Nobody cares that she’s written a whole ton of fun and snappy books. Let’s face it, the most interesting thing about Sam is the fact that she’s a dogaholic. Yeah, there’s no Dogaholic’s Anonymous chapter that can help her. Believe me, she’s looked. So Sam deals with her problem the best way she knows how. She digs into the mountains of personal experiences (mostly involving dog poo) to write GREAT dog characters. Oh, and there are some people in her books too. She’s also pretty good at those. Want to ask Sam about her dogs…erm…books? You can connect with her at one of the following places. Just don’t ask her why she has 16 dogs. Nobody in the whole wide world can answer that. NEWSLETTER: Join Sam's Monthly newsletter and get a FREE book! You can also keep up with her appearances, enjoy monthly contests, and get previews of her upcoming work! http://www.samcheever.com/newsletter.html TEXT NEWS ALERTS: Or if you'd rather not receive a monthly newsletter, you can sign up for text alerts and just receive a brief text when Sam's launching a new release or appearing somewhere fun. Just text SAMNEWS to 781-728-9542 to be added! ONLINE HOT SPOTS: To find out more about Sam and her work, please pay her a visit at any one of the following online hot spots: Her blog: http://www.samcheever.com/blog; Twitter: http://twitter.com/samcheever; and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SamCheeverAuthor. She looks forward to chatting with you! She has a technique for scooping poop that she knows you’re just DYING to learn about.

Book preview

COME TO SILVER HILLS. Where a bad hair day could end up costing you your life.

If you were a mature individual with a mighty fine bouff, would you consider shaving your head to solve a case of possible murder? That’s the million-dollar question for Flo and Agnes as they find themselves neck deep in missing Satanists, scheming cultists, and a long string of seriously bad hair days. But what’s a sleuth to do when the queen of the night comes to them pleading...erm...threatening...ahhh...pleatening them for help? If you know Flo and Agnes you already know the answer to that question. They’re goin’ in!

Sam doesn’t give away a lot of books. But she values her readers and, to show it, she’s gifting you a copy of a fun book just for signing up for her newsletter!

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CHAPTER ONE

WHY WOULD YOU WANT to ruin a perfectly good strawberry pie with rhubarb? Agnes asked Cook, her wide face folded untidily into a frown. It’s barely edible.

Judging by the copious red smears of pie filling across your lips and cheeks and the nearly empty plate, I’d say you’re managing to choke it down, Flo told her.

Cook placed her pudgy brown hands on her round belly and gave Agnes the stink eye. You’re treadin’ on thin ice, cher. I take my pie bakin’ skills deadly serious.

Agnes’s eyes widened just a tiny bit. It’s not an insult to you or your pie, Cook. It’s the rhubarb. She stabbed a shiny red stalk of the stuff. This here’s the devil’s celery.

Cook’s brown eyes narrowed further. You ’bout to meet da devil, cher. I’m gonna send ya dere.

Flo kicked Agnes’s calf under the table.

Ow! What the heck, Flo?

Sorry, I have restless leg syndrome today. She booted her friend again. See. There it goes again. Shaking her head, she pushed her empty plate away. That was the best pie I’ve ever tasted, Cook.

The big Cajun patted Flo’s hand. Thank you, cher. I’m glad somebody in dis place has taste.

I have taste, Agnes said, pursing her lips. That’s how I can tell this pie su... She stopped as Cook leaned forward, her eyes going out of focus. Behind them the fire in the fireplace flared brightly, the flames dancing with evil intent. Umm, Agnes said, ...has such a different taste than I’m used to. She tried a smile that was lacking something in the sincerity department. Cook wasn’t buying it. One of her eyes danced to the left while the other one seemed to reflect the flaring fire.

Flo shoved to her feet, nearly toppling her chair, and grabbed Agnes’s hand. I’m sorry. We need to go, Cook. She jerked Agnes toward the door but it was like towing a water buffalo with a paddle boat.

What in the world, fool? Agnes complained as Flo shoved her through the kitchen door. What are you yankin’ and shovin’ me for?

Flo swung around as the door snicked shut, peering through the small window at the top. Cook still sat before the fire, her eyes flaring orange under the dancing light.

Her lips were moving.

Oh dear Lord. Flo grabbed Agnes’s hand again. She’s throwing you a curse!

Agnes snorted. A curse? Right.

I’m telling you, Agnes, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of this building. I don’t know if it’ll save you but it’s the only chance you’ve got.

Agnes lumbered after Flo. Cook isn’t going to kill me because I insulted her pie.

Flo felt her eyes go wide. No? Then why is your face turning red?

Agnes stopped, reaching to touch her face. She frowned. It feels hot. I must have been sitting too close to the fire.

The music stuttered in the overhead speakers and the lobby lights flickered. Wonderful, Flo murmured. Just what we need.

Morticia Newsome, one half of the reputedly vampiric duo of night managers at Silver Hills, glided down the center staircase as if she rode a stream of air above the floor. Her ink-black hair shone in the flickering lobby lights and her blood-red lips pursed as she sighted them. Ladies.

Flo’s answering smile felt like a grimace. Morty.

The manager floated closer, her pale, pale flesh nearly glowing in the empty, dimly lit dining room. She tilted her head, dislodging the single strand of white hair at the front. What’s wrong with your partner in crime?

Flo’s gaze jerked toward Agnes and she yelped. Agnes’s wide face was bright red and large hives had popped up all over it. She seemed to be struggling to breathe. Oh Lord! Cook cursed her. I knew it!

Agnes pointed to her mouth and wheezed something.

Morty pursed her lips again, seemingly fascinated by Agnes’s struggles. "She really is like one of those stupid dogs who you always know will finally eat something one day and die from it. She shook her head, fluttering her long, red polished fingers toward the office. Tell Vlad she needs an epi-pen. I think we have a few in the first aid cabinet."

She floated through the front doors, leaving Flo to tow a wheezing, hivey Agnes quickly toward the office. Flo flung open the door and ran through the outer office. Unfortunately the head vampire was out. He was apparently draining some unsuspecting victim on the streets of Silver City.

Agnes collapsed against Morty’s desk, dropping into a chair. Flo panicked, fearing her friend only had moments, maybe even seconds to live. She ran toward the first aid cabinet and threw the doors open, searching quickly for something that looked epi pen-like. She found it after a brief search and ran back out into the outer office. Agnes was visibly struggling to breathe, her mouth gaping open like a fish out of water.

Flo ran over, tugged the safety cap off the pen and jammed it into Agnes’s beefy thigh. Then she said a prayer. Agnes’s lips were blue and her eyes were wide enough to pop out of her head. Finally, after a very scary few seconds, her friend’s breathing began to return to normal. Flo sagged against the desk with relief. Thank the Lord.

Agnes sucked big gulps of air into her lungs. I’ll never criticize Cook’s baking again.

Flo patted her arm. I think you just had an allergic reaction to the rhubarb.

I knew that stuff came from the devil.

The door opened and a deep, oily voice said, You called? Vlad Newsome stood in the door, his black gaze fixed on them in a bored and icy glare.

Ha ha, the devil. I get it, Flo said. The night manager was so still Flo had to check his narrow chest to make sure he was still breathing. Brushed straight back from a widow’s peak and glued into place by something unnatural, his inky black hair was an immovable helmet that shone in the overhead light.

Vlad, I had to take an epi pen from the first aid cabinet, Flo told him. Agnes had an allergic reaction to rhubarb.

He tilted his head just as his wife had done. And I care about that, why?

Flo shook her head. Sorry. I forgot for a moment that you completely lack all human compassion. She looked at Agnes. Come on, Agnes, let’s get you home.

Agnes shoved wearily to her feet. She gave Vlad a look as she passed by, barely missing him with her wide boohind.

He stepped back with a look of horror. What happened to your face?

Somebody threw holy water on me. Baring her teeth in a growl, she added, You might want to avoid the puddle in the lobby. Just in case.

Vlad curled his lip. I’m not surprised. I figured you had some demon in you.

She motioned to her lip. You’ve got a little blood, just there. Apparently whoever you just drained put up a fuss. Maybe you should carry wet wipes in your cape.

"Very funny. But it wasn’t someone, it was something. Cats are always messy. They just refuse to stay still."

He chuckled darkly as Agnes’s eyes bulged and closed the office door in their faces.

I need to get home and check on Tolstoy.

Tolstoy’s fine. You know Vlad and Morty aren’t really vampires right?

Her shoulders rounded with weariness, Agnes plodded along behind Flo. I’m still on the fence.

Flo hit the elevator button and the door slid open. Besides, Tolstoy’s the grim reaper. He can hold his own with a vampire.

Agnes snorted, stumbled on the track of the elevator door and fell forward, slamming her head against the back wall. The doors slid slowly shut behind her as she pushed to her feet, groaning loudly.

Good Lord, woman. Are you all right?

Rubbing her head, Agnes sighed. No. I’m stupid. Whatever possessed me to insult a voodoo queen with a pie baking fetish?

Flo shrugged, frowning. I surely don’t know.

CHAPTER TWO

FLO PUMPED HER ARMS and blew air out in a gust as she neared the top of the hill. She had a decidedly unladylike sheen on her face but she was starting to feel like she might actually survive the walk.

Unfortunately, not too far behind her, an exercise failure of epic proportions was happening. In fact, as she threw a look over her shoulder to make sure the sounds she was hearing weren’t actually from a buffalo giving birth to a rhinoceros, she realized the failure had already happened. She stopped and turned back to Agnes, hands on hips. Her friend was draped over the hood of somebody’s car, her round belly heaving and quivering as she tried to force air through her lungs. Agnes Willard, you’re in terrible shape.

Agnes didn’t lift her head, but if her neon red face was any indication, she was at the end of her endurance. I don’t care what the stupid doctor says, I hate walking.

TC hailed them from a couple blocks up and Flo waved her off, realizing the rest of the group would have to go on without them. Your blood pressure is too high, Agnes. If you don’t want to stroke out you need to get in shape and bring it down.

Agnes shoved off the car and bent forward, her skinny legs quivering as she panted for air. That’s what they make drugs for, isn’t it? I’ll just take bigger pills.

Not a good plan, fool. Flo frowned. She was actually worried about her friend’s health so when TC had suggested they join the thrice weekly walking group she’d jumped at the chance. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on her friend’s rabid resistance to the idea. You lift weights and use the treadmill. I don’t understand why walking is such a chore for you.

Agnes fixed a bloodshot eye on Flo, her graying brown pageboy sticking up around a wide hairband that was dark with sweat. Lifting weights only requires muscles. I have those in abundance. She patted her well-rounded behind as if presenting evidence of muscle. But these here are fast twitch muscles. They’re for strength more than endurance.

Flo eyed the muscles her friend indicated, one eyebrow creeping skyward with skepticism. There’s definitely some twitching going on back there, but I’m not sure it’s muscle.

Agnes blew out a breath and limped toward Flo. What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m a sprinter rather than an endurance runner. I’m out of my league with this long, drawn-out walking stuff.

Flo slid her gaze down the street to the Silver Hills Senior and Singles Residence, the other eyebrow creeping northward to join the first one. You know we’ve only gone a block, right?

Agnes peered down at Flo, one eyelid twitching. That’s at least a block and a half.

Flo shrugged. Whatever. Come on. We’ll walk slower for a while.

Grunting and groaning, Agnes ambled along next to Flo. I’m serious about the drug thing. There has to be a stronger blood pressure pill that would keep me from having to do this.

What about the diet the doc put you on?

Agnes blew out a raspberry. You think I’m giving up pie? She shook her head. I’ll take a pill as big as my head if I need to. I’m not giving up pie.

Good idea, Flo said eagerly. We’ll just pump massive doses of drugs into you so you can sit on your boohind and eat donuts and pie.

Sarcasm flew past Agnes on silver wings. It avoided her like she was coated in Teflon. She wouldn’t recognize a sarcastic remark if it jumped onto her boohind and twitched in time to Stairway to Heaven, Agnes’s favorite song.

She nodded. That’s the kind of health plan I can get behind.

Lord in Heaven, woman.

They walked in near silence for a moment, the quiet only broken by the sound of that buffalo giving birth. Several blocks away they spotted TC and the rest of the group stretching in the park. The halfway point. Look, we’re almost there.

Close enough, Agnes said, turning on her heel.

Where are you going, fool?

Home. I’m pretty sure Cook baked a chocolate cream pie this morning.

Agnes, come on. We need to finish the walk. Besides, you need to stay away from Cook and her pies for a while.

Agnes lifted one hand over her head in a wave but didn’t stop or turn back. In fact, she seemed to have found renewed energy and was moving back toward the residence at a much faster clip than she’d used coming away from it.

Like a lazy horse returning to the barn.

Flo glanced at TC and the group and then toward Agnes and sighed, deciding to stay with her friend in case she stroked out on the way home. But, she decided, the next time her stubborn friend was on her own. Flo kind of liked the idea of getting back in shape.

It didn’t take long for Flo to decide she should have stayed out on the streets. When they entered the Silver Hills lobby, new dangers and dilemmas met them at the door.

The queen of the night, a.k.a. Morticia Newsome, known as Morty by all her non-friends, floated toward them, the overhead lights flickering in her wake.

Agnes peered toward the ceiling. How do you suppose she does that?

Flo shrugged. She probably carries something in her pocket that disrupts electricity.

A mini EMP? Agnes asked with a contemplative look. Makes sense. I wouldn’t have thought vampires were into technology until I watched that Underwear movie.

Flo rolled her eyes. I think you mean Underworld.

Shrugging, Agnes fixed a glare on the approaching vampiress. Same thing.

I gave at the blood bank, Agnes told Morty before the blood-sucker wannabe reached them. Her coal-black hair streaming straight down to her shoulders from an impossibly even center part, Morty narrowed eyes contoured in thick black lines and pursed blood-red lips. Har, de har, har.

Agnes gave the night manager a crooked grin. I thought it was pretty good.

Flo shook her head. What can we help you with, Morty?

The manager’s kohl-lined eyes widened again. Why do you always assume I want something?

Because you’re here instead of hiding in your office.

Morty shrugged, clearly unable to dispute Agnes’s logic. As it turns out I do need your help with something.

Flo and Agnes shared a shocked look. Morty generally hated even speaking to the residents at Silver Hills, let alone asking for anything from them. Whatever it was, Flo decided it had to be big. Go on.

Morty glanced around as if looking for eavesdroppers. There were several people lingering in the dining room from lunch, but none of them were close enough to hear. Nevertheless, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. There’s a problem at my...temple.

Agnes’s eyes went round. "You in a place of worship? Wait, let me guess, have there been a large