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  He looked at Karen. “I don’t know,” he said firmly and repeated himself when she finally looked up. “But we need to find him. The sooner the better.”

  Tiffany tried to relieve the tension. “He probably just stayed at home to watch TV tonight.” She, too, insisted on catching Karen’s eye. “Or he could be hiding out, because he’s the killer, just like you were saying.”

  Karen took a deep breath. “Or he could be dead.”

  ***

  Wilson cleared his throat and ordered us, or at least tried to convince us, not to worry until we knew more. “Let’s move on, shall we?” Karen nodded agreement to her beer, and he turned to me. “What’s your theory?”

  Russell came back, so luckily I didn’t have to answer right away. “Richardson’s on it,” he told Wilson. “He’ll call as soon as he finds him.”

  If he finds him, I thought.

  I shuddered and got back to my theory, such as it was. “This was all about Angela,” I said. “And Fritz got killed because he figured out who killed her.”

  “Who was it, Jessie?” Wilson asked as if I might actually know.

  I leaned back to ponder the possibilities, and my mother popped into my head. “It was either Melissa, Spencer, or Kevin,” I said, even if I did cringe at Kevin’s name.

  “Why those three?”

  “Because they’re the people Mother pinpointed.”

  Wilson was incredulous. “For God’s sake. She was only there for one night.”

  I reminded him Tessie defies logic, and he groaned accordingly.

  “Why did your mother narrow it down to those three?” Russell asked.

  “She didn’t give exact reasons,” I admitted. “But maybe it was jealousy. One of them, Kevin, Melissa or Spencer, was jealous.” I squinted up at the skylight. “Of something or other.”

  “What did your mother say about Kevin?” Candy asked.

  “He doesn’t belong at the Wade On Inn.”

  “That’s it?”

  I shrugged.

  “And Melissa?” Wilson was curious despite himself.

  “She says Melissa likes her little fantasies. Melissa liked Fritz a lot, by the way.”

  “But Fritz Lupo was gay,” Russell reminded me.

  “Well, yeah. But once upon a time Melissa had a crush on him. Avis told me that. And Fritz was giving Angela lessons at pool. Melissa would have been jealous of that. Trust me.”

  “So Melissa Purcell killed one of her oldest friends because he gave pool lessons to the wrong woman?” Wilson was skeptical.

  I shrugged.

  “She was also looking for a job there, right, Jess?” That was Karen.

  “And Angela worked for Elsa Quinn.” Lord help me, now Tiffany was arguing my cause. “Maybe Melissa was jealous of that.”

  “There, you see?” I sat up and looked at my beau. “Melissa had all kinds of motives. And she definitely knew about the gun.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Wilson remained unconvinced. “Your mother mentioned Spencer Erring? What’s his motive?”

  I gave it some thought. “His would be fear. He was afraid his wife would find out about his affair with Angela.”

  “That’s what I thought until tonight.” That was Candy. “Until I decided it was Kevin.”

  “And Spencer Erring was probably the one who lost the most money to Lupo,” Russell added. “Which gives him another motive.”

  “There now, you see?” I appealed to Wilson. “All three of Mother’s ideas have merit.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Wilson refused to be even remotely intrigued.

  “Well then, what about you, Captain Rye?” I asked. “What’s your brilliant theory?”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Karen said. “Who do you think did it, Wilson?”

  “He won’t tell you that,” Russell informed us.

  “Why not?” Candy asked.

  “He never lets us know his own theory until we’re closer to solving the case.”

  “Makes people work harder. And it looks like we have a lot of work.” Wilson looked at Tiffany. “Let’s you and I pay another visit to Kevin Cooper tomorrow and find out why he failed to mention his relationship with Ms. Hernandez.”

  “And Densmore.” He turned to Russell. “You call on Henry Jack. Find out why the sudden change of heart on Pastor Muckenfuss.”

  He checked his watch. “And apparently Sergeant Richardson didn’t find Bobby Decker asleep in front of his TV. Let’s hope locating Decker doesn’t end up on our to-do list.”

  Wilson moved Snowflake to my lap and stood up. “Good work, ladies, but we’ll take it from here.”

  “No way.” I, too, stood up. “You can’t fire us at this critical juncture.” I appealed to Candy and Karen. “Can he?”

  “Gosh, it does seem kind of unfair,” Candy agreed. “Mackenzie will wonder what happened to me.”

  “And the guys on the dance floor will wonder about me.” Karen frowned. “And I’ll be wondering about Bobby. Whether he’s the killer, the killee, or what.”

  Wilson stood his ground. “It’s getting too dangerous,” he insisted. “I don’t have the manpower to protect you three amateurs if this thing blows up.”

  “Amateurs?” I said indignantly, but Wilson only repeated the insult.

  “Kim’s out there,” Russell suggested. “Nothing will happen to them under her watch, Captain. She’s the best you have.”

  Wilson blinked, and I knew what he was thinking. Lieutenant Russell Densmore was the best he had, not Kim Whoever-She-Was Goldilocks.

  Tiffany spoke up. “I can be right upstairs, like I was tonight. If Kim calls for backup, I’ll be down there in a flash.”

  I glanced at Tiffany’s stiletto heels and somehow doubted her optimism, but Russell spoke again. “Tiff is great backup,” he said. “And I can be out there, too, if you want.”

  Wilson pointed to the purple ensemble. “You have another suit like that?”

  Russell grinned. “Hot pink.”

  “I’ll wear a matching skirt.” Tiffany actually winked at me.

  And I actually smiled back. What can I say? I was really, really tired.

  Wilson finally accepted defeat. “But tomorrow night is definitely it,” he said sternly.

  Candy clapped her hands in glee. “What should we work on our last night there?” she asked him.

  “Staying alive would be nice.”

  ***

  Tiffany Sass was the last to leave my condo. As she sashayed her bright red bottom through the door, I collapsed back onto the couch and closed my eyes. Eventually I opened one eye and caught Wilson staring at me.

  “What’s up with you and Kevin Cooper?” he asked.

  “Probably a lot less than what’s up with you and Tiffany.” I sat up and resigned myself to staying awake.

  “Come on, Jessie.” He leaned against the door. “I saw your reaction when Candy mentioned him. What have you done?”

  I cringed. “I may have visited him at the library once or twice.”

  “Twice!?”

  I tapped my lap and Snowflake joined me. “At least Melissa Purcell works where she claims she does. Which is more than I can say for Kevin.” I petted the cat from head to tail. “He was at the library, technically speaking. But working on his dissertation is a bit different than helping freshmen find their way around the reference section, no?”

  “Please tell me Cooper doesn’t know who you really are.”

  When I didn’t answer Wilson let out a four-letter word.

  “Will you relax?” I said. “Melissa has no idea who I really am. And Kevin—”

  “And Kevin?”

  “Knows who I really am.”

  Again the four-letter word. “For God’s sake, Jessie. What possessed you to confide in the guy?”

  I tried to remember what possessed me to confide in the guy. “I was so sure he was a cop.”

  Wilson was practicing some deep breathing.

  “But I found out the truth this afternoon. Kevin told me al
l about his research at with the Wade On Inn.” I frowned. “Except for the fling with Angela Hernandez thing.”

  Wilson continued the deep breathing while I continued rationalizing my screw-up. “Even if he is the killer,” I concluded, “I doubt he would want to blow my cover. We’re safe.” I looked down at Snowflake. “I think,” I mouthed.

  “You’re a little scary. You know that?”

  “What about Tiffany?”

  “What about her?”

  “Did she wear that stupid outfit on your road trip?”

  “No, thank God.”

  Okay, so I may have smiled.

  “She’s a good cop, Jessie. Sergeant Sass does whatever I ask her, and she does it well.”

  “That,” I said to Snowflake, “is exactly what I was afraid of.”

  “How much did you win tonight, Miss Cue-It?”

  “I did quite well, thank you.”

  “May I stay a while?” Wilson asked me.

  I hesitated, but Snowflake rushed over and wound herself around his ankles.

  “Mother insists you’re a faithful guy,” I told the coffee table.

  “She thinks I’m darling.”

  “She says I should trust you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly. “I do.”

  Chapter 26

  A woman of stout constitution, Winnie Dickerson was not accustomed to fretting. But the day’s events had been most unsettling, even for someone of Winnie’s resolute nature.

  First, Constable Klodfelder had barged into her shop and arrested Sarina Blyss, or Daisy O’Dell, or whoever she was. And then the Duke of Luxley had appeared, only to admonish Winnie for allowing the damsel to be treated with such disrespect. Indeed, the Duke insisted Sarina was not at all the common criminal that Constable Klodfelder maintained.

  Upon reflection, Mrs. Dickerson had to agree with Trey Barineau. Not only was Sarina Blyss a fine seamstress, she was punctual, pleasant, and poised. Why, until the Constable accused her of all manner of wicked deeds, Winnie had found no reason whatsoever to doubt the young lady’s integrity.

  Giving herself a stern scolding, Winnie put down her sewing and stood up to pace. But a commotion outside the shop interrupted her thoughts. She rushed out to the curb just as Trey Barineau’s horse galloped past.

  “Make way!” he shouted, and people jumped aside willy-nilly to clear a path. “I’m in a hurry!”

  Winnie knew not where the Duke was headed, but his haste inspired her to action also. She donned her shawl and set a course for the outskirts of town. That innocent girl would not be spending the night in Klodfelder’s jail. Not while Winifred Dickerson lived and breathed!

  ***

  Mrs. Dickerson’s change of heart might have gotten the completely exhausted Adelé Nightingale a bit choked up, but Snowflake wasn’t nearly so impressed. She stood up and stretched, yawned dramatically, and hopped down from her windowsill. It was snack time she told me in no uncertain terms, and headed to the kitchen.

  I, too, stood up and stretched. I fed Snowflake her treat, yawned for good measure, and made the morning’s second pot of coffee. Maybe the extra caffeine would help me decide what Winnie was going to do once she arrived at the jail.

  I poured myself another cup and glanced down at Snowflake. “Of course she’ll get Sarina out,” I said. “Klodfelder is no match whatsoever. But then what?”

  Snowflake meowed.

  “Maybe the two women will hire a carriage and venture out to the Blyss estate?” I suggested. “You know, to confront the altogether evil Agnes?”

  The cat tilted her head, and we were pondering the possibility when my mother called.

  “Have you and Wilson kissed and made up?” she asked.

  “Repeatedly.”

  She giggled. “I’d be scandalized if he weren’t so darling. And the murders? Have you two figured that out?”

  “No.” I sighed. “And if possible, it’s actually getting worse. Now Bobby Decker’s missing and, God forbid, might be dead. Or, of course, he could be the murderer.”

  “Oh my,” Mother agreed. “That does sound worse, doesn’t it? Poor Wilson must be fit to be tied. But what about you, Jessie? You don’t think Bobby did it?”

  “No,” I said. “I assume it’s one of the people you suspected.”

  “I suspected?” Mother’s voice rose. “But I don’t have any idea who killed those poor people.”

  “Yes, you do,” I argued. “Just yesterday morning you told me you suspected three people—Spencer, Melissa and Kevin. Don’t you remember?”

  “No, Jessie. I told you there was something fishy about those three. But fishy’s a lot different than what you’re suggesting.”

  “Daddy always trusted your intuition, Mother. Why can’t I?”

  “Oh, Honeybunch, you can. But your father never asked me to pinpoint a murderer, did he? I’m not sure I’m up to that.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “But right now all three of them are looking pretty darn,” I hesitated, “fishy. For instance, Melissa could have been jealous of Angela for any number of reasons. Or Spencer might have killed her to stop her from talking to his rich wife. And you were definitely right to wonder about Kevin.”

  I explained that Kevin Cooper was not a librarian at all, but a graduate student. “Let me see if I can remember his dissertation title—Social Interactivity and Gambling Protocol Among Early Twenty-First Century Billiard Players or something like that. It’s quite a mouthful, no?”

  “College students studying pool players?” Mother chuckled at the idea. “Is there a need for that sort of thing?”

  “Who knows? But Kevin lied about something else, too. He had started seeing Angela right before she got killed, but never mentioned it to anyone.” I stopped and waited for my mother’s reaction.

  Nothing.

  “So Kevin is Candy’s number one suspect now,” I continued. “She insists it can’t be a coincidence that they had just started dating before Angela got killed.”

  “I see.”

  “You do?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Good! Since I truly hope it wasn’t Kevin.”

  “Although he does wear sandals, doesn’t he?”

  ***

  As I predicted, the Dickerson-Klodfelder confrontation was quite straightforward. The triumphant Winnie Dickerson was escorting a most grateful Sarina Blyss past the duly chagrined Constable and out of the St. Celeste jail when my intercom buzzer went berserk.

  “Let me in, Jessie,” Ian demanded and laid on the buzzer for about the tenth time.

  Clearly the man had taken lessons from his wife, and I was beginning to rue the day Wilson had talked Karen into installing the stupid thing. I might be safer with the intercom system in place, but life had actually been more peaceful when obnoxious visitors could simply come on up and bang on my door.

  While Ian continued his frenzied bell-buzzing, I fortified myself with another gulp of coffee, slipped on my shoes, and braced myself for the day’s Hewitt-Crawcheck confrontation. I promised Snowflake I would be right back. “Alone,” I added before closing the door.

  It took some effort to push my ex off the stoop and out to the sidewalk. But when there’s a will, there’s a way. I poked, and prodded, and persevered, and finally got him a few yards away from my building.

  Meanwhile Ian was pointing to his watch and tapping vigorously. “It’s 11:20, Jessie, just like we agreed. What the hell’s your problem?”

  Where to begin? But here was a task I was definitely up to, so I delved on in. “You lied to me, Ian,” I began. “You are not altogether broke, you still have the money to play golf, and you still have friends. If this Dickie-person’s so willing to play eighteen holes with you, you can shower at his place from now on. Or at that stupid country club you and Amanda are so proud of.”

  “I risked my life at the Wade On Inn the other day,” he snapped. “You owe me.”

  “Yeah, right,” I snapped back. �
��And why are you even here, anyway? The last time I saw Amanda she was huffing, and puffing, and stamping off in the direction of your office. Did she not invite you back home?”

  “My marriage is none of your business.”

  “No kidding! But you and your stupid wife both seem bent on making it my business.”

  Ian backed off, at least for a moment, and conceded that Amanda had begged him to come back home.

  “Proof positive that there is no accounting for taste,” I said.

  “But then I told her about us.”

  I blinked twice. “Us?” I finally managed. “You mean, like, in you and me—us?”

  The look on my ex’s face told me that was exactly what he meant. “Come on, Jessie. Just the other day you were telling me all about your new book.” The man actually winked. “We both know what that means.”

  I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

  Then I did some deep breathing exercises while I wondered, not for the first time, why I had ever married this fool.

  All I can figure is that some people get smarter as they age, and some people get stupider. I’ll place myself in that first group, and Ian Crawcheck definitely falls into the second category. So, if you do the math...

  But that’s ancient history. Or at least I wished it was. I waited until my ex wiped the stupid smile off his face.

  “Go to Dickie’s house,” I said firmly. “Or better yet, go home.” I began walking away. “Do not be buzzing my bell ever again, or else.”

  “Or else, what? You’ll have me arrested?” he called after me. “He’s too young for you, Jessie. What is it, like ten years’ difference?”

  I remembered my theory that I’m getting smarter every day and kept on going. I did not turn around, and I did not correct my ex’s misconception. But it was only five years’ difference. And my relationship with Wilson was perfect, thank you very much.

  I stopped short and almost fell over. My relationship with Wilson was perfect.

  Lord help me.

  Chapter 27

  The Duke of Luxley steered a course for Priesters and reached his destination at dusk. The humble chapel was just as Sarina had described it. And Father Conforti was just as she described him—a sensitive soul who noticed at once the highly distressed countenance of his visitor.