Double Shot Page 19

  Indeed, the two men had barely introduced themselves before the good Father saw fit to inquire as to the Duke’s well-being. Trey confessed that he was not at all well. He explained how he had come to know Sarina Blyss, and the harrowing circumstances in which the poor lady now found herself.

  As he reported the dire situation, Trey became more and more agitated, and Father Conforti confessed that he, too, was sorely vexed. He assured Trey he would happily identify Sarina Blyss, the true owner of the golden necklace. Indeed, he insisted on making the journey to St. Celeste that very evening.

  Trey’s relief was short-lived, however, when Father Conforti led him to the stable behind the church and introduced him to his trusty steed, Barnaby. The priest smiled fondly at the beast, but Trey only frowned. A donkey? And a very old donkey at that? It would take the man until midnight to get to his destination on that bedraggled creature.

  Alas, Father Conforti would entertain no other alternatives. Barnaby accompanied him on all his pastoral visits, and dear Sarina had always been so fond of Barnaby. Why, the Father recollected one occasion when Sarina was but ten years old, and Barnaby had been much younger himself, when—

  The Duke of Luxley held up a hand in surrender. He ceased arguing and arranged to meet the devoted priest and his devoted beast in St. Celeste as soon as possible.

  With that, Trey jumped back on his horse. Next stop? The Blyss Estate, to confront Agnes and Norwood Blyss about their horrid mistreatment of their own flesh and blood!

  Thoughts of Sarina’s flesh left Trey momentarily woozy, but he quickly recovered and dashed away.

  ***

  Inspired by the Trey Barineau’s quest for justice, I stopped writing and stared at Snowflake. “Kevin Cooper,” I said.

  The cat opened one eye.

  “He may not be as altogether evil as Agnes, but he has been lying. And he must be confronted.” I stood up with a determined nod, and Snowflake promptly resumed her nap.

  So much for encouragement. Wilson would likely disapprove also, but I ignored them both and hastened over to the University of Clarence library.

  I was climbing the stairs to the second floor when the thought occurred to me that Kevin could be dangerous. I stopped. What would I do if he really were the killer? Or more importantly, what would he do?

  But surely I was safe in a library? I kept climbing and found him in his usual spot, doing the transcribing thing. He pretended not to see me, but I hovered over him until he was forced to look up.

  He sighed dramatically and switched off all his machinery. “You and your boyfriend have something against me getting any work done?” He made a point of frowning as he pulled out the ear bobs, but I pretended not to notice and sat down anyway.

  “So Wilson’s already been here?” I asked.

  “Earlier this afternoon. He and Sergeant Sass. She’s gorgeous, but she’s as nosy as you are.”

  “That’s because you lied to us, Kevin.”

  “Nooo. I just chose not to tell you about Angie and me. It’s none of your business.”

  “It is if you killed her.” I raised an eyebrow. “Did you kill her?”

  “Does your boyfriend know you’re here?”

  “No. And you better not tell him.”

  Kevin actually grinned.

  “Now then,” I said. “Please tell me you didn’t kill Angela.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think my mother and Candy are both wrong.”

  “Huh?”

  “My mother was the old lady with Doreen and Ethel the other night. She thinks you’re fishy.”

  “Your mother?” Kevin seemed rather puzzled, so I took a moment to explain why my mother had been at the Wade On Inn while he stared at me, aghast.

  “It wasn’t the most brilliant plan,” I conceded.

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

  I decided to move on. “My friend Candy thinks you’re a little scary. She says it can’t be a coincidence that just when you started dating Angela, she ended up dead.”

  Kevin took off his glasses and began the cleaning routine. My patience shot, I grabbed them from his startled hands and placed them on the table, just out of his reach.

  “Come on, Kevin. I need some answers here.” I began counting off questions on my fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me or anyone else about your relationship with Angela? Why was it such a big secret? And why are you still hanging out at the Wade On Inn, now that she’s gone?”

  He waited to be sure I was done and then tapped his computer. “This answers that last question. I still have tons of data to compile.” He shook his head. “If Tessie Hess visits that bar next year on her vacation she’s apt to run into me again. Research takes time.”

  “And Angela?”

  “And Angie and I were only together twice before she got killed.”

  He leaned over and stretched to get his glasses, glanced up to ascertain that I was not going to stop him, and placed them back on the bridge of his nose. His hands were shaking through the whole drawn-out procedure.

  “Twice was enough,” he said quietly.

  I studied him as he stared off into the stacks. “You loved her,” I whispered.

  He took a deep breath. “Which of course, makes me looks guilty as hell. Women tend to get killed by the men in their lives. Unfortunately, I know this kind of stuff.”

  “Sociology?” I asked.

  “And anthropology. Like I told Captain Rye this morning, it probably does look weird that I’m still spending time at the bar. But I have my research. And being in a place she liked so much makes me feel better somehow.” Kevin searched my eyes. “Do you believe me?”

  I did. “But why did the two of you keep this relationship such a deep dark secret?”

  “It only lasted about a week before she got killed. We weren’t being all that cagey.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed.

  “I still don’t understand how everyone found out about it. The only people who knew about Angie and me, were Angie and me.”

  “Mackenzie Quinn,” I said, and he muttered a four-letter word. “You do know Angela confided in her?”

  “That girl knows way too much.”

  “Angela trusted her.”

  “Angie trusted everyone.” Kevin checked his voice and returned to a whisper. “She trusted that little blabbermouth, she trusted Fritz Lupo, she trusted Elsa. She worked for her for practically free, you know?”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh yeah! You know what the deal was? Angie did hours and hours of bookkeeping and paperwork for her, and Elsa let her drink for free. But Angie drank maybe one glass of beer a night.” He threw up his hands. “She earned about a penny an hour at that stupid job.”

  “She was friends with the Quinns,” I argued. “Maybe she was doing them a favor?”

  “Maybe that favor got her killed.”

  A vision of Bobby Decker in his Stetson hat flashed through my head. “Do you think the murders had something to do with Angela’s bookkeeping?”

  He slumped. “No. Not really.”

  “Do you have any idea why Bobby Decker was missing last night?”

  “You realize I just answered these exact same questions for your boyfriend?”

  I might have felt the teensiest bit guilty for being so annoying, but I still waited for an answer.

  “I think Bobby’s scared,” he said. “Just like me. He’s paranoid he’ll be blamed, so he’s hiding.”

  “Who do you blame?” I asked.

  “Earth to Tessie.” Kevin waved a hand in front of me. “I mean Jessie. Didn’t you hear Spencer Erring’s blatant lie last night?”

  “About the gun?”

  “Well, yeah! He lied when he claimed not to know about it.”

  “Or else you’re lying.”

  “What? To divert suspicion away from me?” Kevin snorted. “I haven’t done very well at that, have I?”

  “Have you?”

  “Look, I’m no
t lying, okay? Erring’s definitely the guy who told me about the gun.”

  “When?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I talked a lot those first few nights when I was starting my research. I was nervous, so I asked everyone all kinds of stupid questions—just to get something on my tape recorder.” He tapped his machinery. “Erring must have mentioned it then.”

  I knew the answer, but asked anyway, “So why would Spencer feign ignorance about the gun?”

  Kevin knocked his head. “Earth to Jessie.”

  ***

  I stood up before he hit me over the head with his laptop, made my way over to the library’s computers, and Googled Spencer Erring.

  Nothing. Or almost nothing. The guy had no Facebook page, no Twitter account, and apparently no job. About the only information I could find on him—and I admit I stink at this sort of thing—was in relation to his wife and his in-laws.

  “Weird,” I whispered to myself, and moved on to Dixie Wellington-Erring and the Wellington family in general. Why not?

  Now here was some data. But, as always happens when I start down the slippery slope of Internet-searching, it took an inordinate amount of time to sort through all the info on the Wellingtons. And I easily got sidetracked for no good reason. Also the norm.

  At some point, I got a grip and gave up on mom and dad, Ricky Senior and Maria Wellington. I mean, did I really need to know Ricky had gotten his start in the grocery business by slicing deli meats at a corner store in Atlanta when he was fifteen?

  I redirected my efforts to the Clarence contingent of the family, namely Dixie and Ricky Junior.

  I do believe Dixie Wellington-Erring was living the life Amanda Crawcheck aspired to. The woman belonged to every club known to mankind, or at least to Clarence—the Country Club, the Garden Club, the Bridge Club, the Ladies’ Benevolent Society, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

  In fact, it occurred to me that Amanda probably knew Dixie. She, too, was a member of the Country Club and Garden Club. And I was quite certain she was working on joining all the et ceteras. For a brief and totally irrational moment, I almost considered calling Amanda to ask about Dixie, but sanity prevailed. I may be scary, but I’m not that scary.

  I gave up on Dixie’s social calendar and moved on to Ricky, Jr. And lo and behold, things finally got interesting. Unlike his sister and brother-in-law, this guy actually worked. Ricky Wellington, Jr. was a professor, right there at the University of Clarence. Two years earlier he had been promoted to full professor. In the Anthropology Department.

  I cringed at the computer screen and cursed myself. Of all the regulars at the Wade On Inn, why oh why had I chosen to confide in the guy in sandals?

  ***

  Coincidences happen. Heck, they happen all the time in Adelé Nightingale’s stories. I reminded myself of this over and over again on the walk home. So what if Spencer Erring’s brother-in-law happened to be Kevin Cooper’s dissertation advisor?

  “Why would this be even remotely significant?” I asked Snowflake the moment I stepped through the door.

  “Why would what be significant?”

  I jumped ten feet in the air and landed to find Wilson at work in my kitchen.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Gee, it’s nice to see you, too. Don’t you remember I promised you an early dinner tonight?” He held up the package of tagliatelle I had purchased at Wellington Market. “We’re having a vodka cream sauce. I was going to put it over plain old rigatoni, until I found this in your fridge.”

  He tapped the label and tilted the package back and forth. “I take it you’ve been to Wellington Market recently?”

  “It was just a trip to the grocery store, for Lord’s sake. And you’ll be happy to know I learned absolutely nothing useful. Except how to spend tons of money on unnecessary non-essentials.”

  I walked over to the drawer where I had hidden the cat toys and dug them out. “These are for Wally and Bernice.” I put two of the organic catnip chewies on the counter. “And this one’s for you, madam.” I nodded to Snowflake and tossed her the third.

  She looked extremely pleased and hopped down to inspect further. But, entertaining as she was, rolling around in ecstasy with her new toy, Wilson hadn’t forgotten his original question.

  “So what’s not remotely significant?” he asked.

  I hesitated but could think of no reason not to divulge my latest discovery. So I did.

  “You Googled Ricky Junior?” Wilson shook his incredulous head at me. “Why?”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Did you know about this, Wilson? Do you think it’s significant?”

  “Yes, I knew. And no, I doubt it means anything. Clarence is a small city, Jessie. Coincidences happen.”

  “There, you see?” I asked Snowflake, but the cat was still busy with her new toy.

  Like the cat, Wilson was also in performance mode. He fired up the sauté pan, literally. Not only is this particular sauce delicious, it’s also entertaining. He actually ignites the vodka for a few seconds during the prep.

  “Have you found Bobby Decker?” I asked once the flames had subsided.

  “Yep. He’s home now.”

  “Thank God. I’m sure Karen will be relieved.”

  Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course she’s right, and he’s the killer.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Everywhere. Officer Richardson never did locate him last night, but his car was spotted late this morning at Hastie’s Diner, and then he did errands all over town. Laundry, the post office—”

  “Hastie’s?” I interrupted. “Is that significant?”

  “I don’t know. I had a couple of officers following him, but I told them not to stop him for questioning. After all, he didn’t break any laws by not showing up at the bar last night, or by eating at Melissa’s place of employment today.”

  I thought about it. “Does Bobby have a place of employment?”

  “Construction off and on. He’s actually worked for A and B. Nothing steady, though.”

  “Oh?” I asked in a meaningful tone, but Wilson shook his head.

  “Coincidences, Jessie. They happen.”

  “Well, I am glad he’s okay,” I said. “And if he shows up at the Wade On Inn tonight, I intend to find out why he wasn’t there yesterday.”

  “Jessie.” Wilson used his most ominous cop-voice. “There’s a reason we didn’t question Decker today. We don’t want to make the guy paranoid, right?”

  “Yes, sir, Captain Rye.”

  He waited until I stopped smirking. “Don’t do anything stupid tonight. Stay safe. You get it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, sir, Captain Rye.”

  He stopped stirring the pasta and studied me. “You haven’t been doing anything stupid today, have you? No more casual visits to potential murderers?”

  I tossed my head indignantly and denied getting into any mischief whatsoever. “In fact, I did something rather smart today,” I said. “I told Ian he is no longer welcome here. He’ll have to shower elsewhere.”

  “Excellent.” Wilson’s smile was genuine. “Why the change of heart?”

  I thought about why, and decided my beau didn’t need to concern himself with the silly details. “Let’s just say, Ian’s a jerk.”

  Wilson smiled some more. “Yeah, Jessie. Let’s just say that.”

  Chapter 28

  Poor Karen was looking a little the worse for wear when she showed up at my door later that evening.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as she stumbled inside.

  “These late nights are killing me, Jess.” She collapsed onto my couch. “Did Wilson ever find Bobby? I can’t believe I’m actually worried about the guy. And worried he might be the killer. How sick is that?”

  I assured her Bobby was safe. “Although the jury’s still out on whether or not he’s our guy. Hopefully he’ll be there tonight, and you can find out.”

  “Oh boy,” she said and sank further
into the cushions. “Don’t hate me, but I’m kind of relieved tonight is it.”

  I had to agree, and we were comparing the dark circles under our eyes when Candy arrived. It had been her day off, so she, of course, was well-rested and raring to go. Indeed, she was so optimistic as to inform us that Puddles was now completely housebroken.

  “One hundred and ten percent!” she said and proudly reported that Puddles hadn’t piddled inside in over ten hours. “Ten hours!” The woman was positively gleeful until she took a long, hard look at the two of us slumped on the couch.

  “Gosh,” she said, trying to maintain her smile. “An extra layer of mascara will do you both good.” She pulled Karen up—no easy feat—and steered her toward my dressing table.

  “With an extra layer of mascara, we could probably tackle world peace,” Karen mumbled as Candy eased her forward.

  “Or at least solve the energy crisis,” I suggested as I followed behind.

  Testimony on tired she was, Karen actually sat still and silent, and allowed Candy to perform her magic. And of course she perked right up when it came time to select my jewelry for the evening. She and Candy decided to adorn me in scads of sterling silver and turquoise for my final night at the Wade On Inn.

  “I’ve never been crazy about the southwestern look,” I said to no avail as Candy slipped the fourth or fifth bracelet onto my wrist. “And these big bracelets might mess up my game.”

  “Nothing messes up your game, Jessie.” Candy concentrated on securing a difficult clasp.

  Karen was also unsympathetic. She fished out three gigantic turquoise rings from Candy’s jewelry box and was clearly pleased when they fit a few of my fingers.

  “Wake me up when we’re ready,” she said. She lay back on my bed and promptly commenced snoring.

  “She’s going to ruin her mascara doing that,” Candy told me and began examining my own face. I tried not to notice the frown. “Maybe a little extra concealer under your eyes tonight?” she suggested.

  I told her to have at it. And while she applied considerable time, effort, and concealer to my face, I thought about my most recent conversation with Kevin Cooper.

  “So,” I broached the subject. “I’ve been thinking about the murders.”