Playing With Poison Page 3

  “What about you?” Rye asked.

  “I’m from South Carolina. But I’ve been a resident of North Carolina since college, and a law-abiding citizen of Clarence for over twenty years.”

  “And you’re the only one up here on the third floor?” Rye scanned my condo yet again. “This is a big space for just one person.”

  I waved a hand. “Alas, the lonely old bitch of a certain age.”

  ***

  With heroic effort and even more patience, I finally got rid of Rye and got back to work. But I accomplished next to nothing. Alexis Wynsome got so bored she actually took a nap.

  However, while Alexis tossed and turned on the narrow and lumpy cot chained into the mustiest corner of the turret, Rolfe Vanderhorn arrived on the Snipe estate. He emerged at the clearing at the edge of the forest and stood frowning at the formidable castle of the evil Maynard Snipe.

  Something waving in the winds at the top of the north turret caught his eye, and he looked up. Could it be?

  Yes! Yes, it was one of the lace hankies that the lovely Alexis was fond of dabbing her dewy brown eyes with. What a smart girl! To tie it outside her window like that, so he would know where to find her!

  Suddenly, Rolfe resumed frowning. For our dear, dim, hero had nary a plan for scaling the walls of Lord Snipe’s fortress and rescuing his lady love. His horse had no clue either.

  And if they were expecting any coaching from me, they were destined for disappointment. I was far too distracted by my own problems to offer any assistance. How irritating would it be if Captain Rye decided to drop by every day until this whole Stanley Sweetzer thing was resolved?

  Speaking of irritating—while Rolfe was busy watering his horse, I glanced over at my bookshelf and noticed a gap where A Deluge of Desire should have been. That damn cop had stolen my book.

  Chapter 3

  I barely had time to enjoy my righteous indignation before someone else was pounding on my door. I muttered something about Grand Central Station and went to answer.

  But thank God, Jimmy Beak is the impatient type. He announced himself just as I reached for the doorknob, and I froze. Captain Rye was right—that didn’t take long.

  “Go away,” I said cordially.

  “You need to answer a few questions about Stanley Sweetzer.” Jimmy Beak banged on the door with renewed vigor. “Open up!”

  I double checked the deadbolt.

  “The public has a right to know what happened here last night,” Beak argued. “One of Clarence’s finest young men has been murdered. Don’t you even care about that, Miss Hewitt?” He jiggled the doorknob. “Miss Hewitt?”

  What to do? I gestured to the cat, and we tiptoed back to my desk. But even from behind the door and across the room, I could still hear Jimmy Beak, apparently reporting to the public, who apparently had the right to know.

  “Channel 15 News has just learned that Stanley Sweetzer died right here!” Beak was getting excited. “Behind this very door! In the home of Miss Jessica Hewitt, a recent divorcée!”

  He knocked yet again, and I was certain the cameras were rolling.

  “We also know that Captain Wilson Rye, Clarence’s highest ranking homicide detective, has just left the premises. What do you have to say about that, Jessica Hewitt?” Jimmy directed his voice inside. “I know, and more importantly our viewers know, that if Captain Rye’s involved, it means trouble.” His tone grew even more menacing. “And this time it means trouble for you. You can bet on it.

  “Whether or not Jessica Hewitt agrees to cooperate, our viewers can rest easy.” Jimmy must have turned back to the camera. “The entire Channel 15 News team will be following up on her involvement with Stanley Sweetzer. The public has a right to know what happened behind this very door.”

  He rattled my doorknob one last time, and I whined at Snowflake. She hopped into my lap and squeaked back.

  “Maybe Alexis Wynsome is on to something,” I told her. Being trapped in a nice, solid turret in a castle far, far, away suddenly seemed ideal.

  ***

  “But what about Jimmy Beak?” Karen asked when I called her later.

  “What about him?” I asked. “I’ve been hiding at home for the past twenty-four hours, and all I’ve gotten for it is a corpse on my couch, a cop in my kitchen, and a creep in the corridor. It’s time to go out.”

  “And risk seeing Jimmy? He put that little scene outside your door on the news tonight, you know?”

  I reminded her that I didn’t know, since I don’t watch TV.

  “He’s out to get us, Jess. He showed a similar scene outside my own door. I refused to talk to him, too.”

  “Then we deserve a night out.”

  When I had decided on an evening at The Stone Fountain to commiserate with my friends, I expected Candy to be the reluctant one. But she had jumped at the chance. She said something about going stir crazy sitting around home and promised to be ready at eight.

  Karen, however, was proving harder to convince.

  “Come on, Karen,” I said. “Even Candy says she’s up to it.”

  “Kiddo’s coming with us?”

  ***

  We agreed to call it off at the first sign of Jimmy Beak, but at eight o’clock the coast was clear, and the three of us ventured across Sullivan Street. Despite the disconcerting circumstances, we had risen to the occasion and at least looked our normal selves. Candy may have been a little wobblier than usual, but she was still in stilettos. Karen wore jeans and a T-shirt, and I was also in my evening uniform—slacks, sweater, and pointy-toed flats.

  Jim Morrison was singing “Light My Fire” over the sound system as we entered the bar. I took note of the happy fact that it was The Doors night at The Stone Fountain as Gina Stone scurried past us with a tray of drinks.

  “Nachos coming up,” she called over her shoulder.

  “I’m starving,” Candy said, but Gina was already long gone.

  We waved at Matthew Stone, presiding over his half of the bar, and he offered his standard frown. Matthew pretends to be grumpy, but everyone knows it’s just an act. We smiled anyway and maneuvered our way through the crowd. Bryce was pointing to our three favorite barstools, but I took a moment to greet my pals at the pool table before sitting down.

  Bless his heart, Bryce had already poured Karen’s Corona, and had the Korbel at the ready when I finally turned around. He did a little Bryce-bounce and glanced at Candy. “It’s on the house,” he told her. “Or whatever you want.”

  She pointed a hot pink fingernail at the champagne bottle, and we were offering a toast to Stanley when Gina popped over with a plate of nachos.

  “I’m starving,” Candy reminded us and dug in with gusto.

  I shrugged at Karen. “You see?” I said. “Business as usual.”

  “Usual?” Bryce disagreed. “Haven’t the cops been bugging you guys about Stanley?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Karen said and squeezed some lime into her beer. “Captain Rye wasted half my day, snooping around my workshop and asking why I was home alone last night.” She took a sip. “I guess I have no alibi.”

  “He wasted the other half with me,” I said. “Asking why Stanley chose to visit me of all people.”

  “You guys had it easy,” Bryce insisted. “Rye and that lieutenant bugged me over there and over here. They claim Stan had to be poisoned in one place or the other.” He held onto the edge of the bar and rocked back and forth. “So guess who looks guilty?”

  “But you work over here,” Karen said.

  “And you live over there,” I added.

  Bryce kept swaying. “Lucky me.”

  I sighed dramatically. “Apparently Rye’s interested in all of us—our jobs, our love-lives—you name it. We simply fascinate the guy.”

  “He wanted a list of everyone I’ve built anything for in the last ten years,” Karen said.

  “He took a copy of my class schedules for the last ten semesters,” Bryce agreed. “He kept asking why I switch majors all the time.”


  “Why do you switch majors all the time?” Candy asked.

  Bryce thought for a moment. “I guess because I always wanted to be a vet like my mom.”

  I cringed and thought of poor Bryce’s allergy to my cat. “Not an option?” I asked.

  He pointed to his nose. “First it was cats, then dogs, then horses, then—you guys get the picture. If this business major doesn’t work out, I’m thinking of journalism next.”

  “You could write books like Jessie,” Candy suggested.

  “Speaking of which, Rye stole one of mine.”

  “Girlfriend!” Karen stared at me aghast. “He did not.”

  “Oh, yes he did. There’s a big gaping hole on my bookshelf where A Deluge of Desire should be.”

  “That one’s my favorites,” Candy said. She stopped wrestling with the guacamole and glanced at each of us. “Y’all have to promise me something, okay? Be nice to Captain Rye?”

  We groaned in unison.

  “No, really,” she insisted. “He’s just doing his job.”

  “Yeah, but so is Jimmy Beak,” Karen said. “Sorry, Kiddo, but no way I’m being polite to that jerk.”

  “Jimmy’s been bothering everyone?” I asked.

  Karen shuddered, Candy whimpered, and Bryce complained that, like Rye, Jimmy Beak had bothered him both at home and at work.

  “Matthew and Gina are totally fed up. But I’m the one he bugged the most.” Bryce frowned. “Lucky me—I mixed Stan’s drinks last night.”

  “But you’re the bartender,” I reminded him.

  “Everyone’s still real interested. Matthew and Gina both claim they didn’t serve him anything. Just me.”

  “Stanley always loved your Long Island Iced Teas.” Candy said quietly. “Everyone does.”

  “Everyone but you.”

  “Bryce isn’t the only one who looks bad,” Karen said with an ominous glance at me.

  “Jimmy knows you’re Adelé Nightingale,” Bryce explained. “He talked about it on TV tonight, Jessie. He acted like your books are illegal or something.”

  “Oh, but he showed a real nice picture of you!” Candy said, and I almost choked on my champagne. “The one from the back of Windswept Whispers?”

  I drank some more.

  The fact that Jimmy Beak had shown any picture of me was horrifying in and of itself. But using the photograph from Windswept Whispers? Proof positive that the man is evil. I was having a bad hair month when that picture was taken, and for a few misguided and unattractive weeks, I had gone grey.

  “Help me,” I begged no one in particular.

  “At least Kiddo did okay.” Karen patted Candy’s knee. “You did great handling Jimmy’s questions.”

  Candy finally gave up on the nachos. “He seemed real nice when we were talking. But then when I saw myself on TV, it was like he tricked me or something.” She turned to me. “I probably shouldn’t have told him where Stanley died, huh?”

  I told her not to worry about it and tried to believe Karen and Bryce, who claimed that Jimmy has a very short attention span. According to them, he would soon find another supposed story to worry himself and everyone else about.

  “Maybe the cops will get busy somewhere else, too,” Bryce suggested.

  “No way,” I said. “Rye’s having far too much fun accusing me. He insists bitchy old women like me are prone to poisoning people.”

  “You are not a bitch,” Candy said.

  “I’m not a murderer, either.”

  “I bet Old Man Harrison did it,” Bryce said, and the three of us jumped. “Think about it, guys.” He tapped his index fingers on the bar, playing imaginary drums. “If the cops keep blaming someone in our building, it had to be Harrison.”

  “But why would Mr. Harrison hurt Stanley?” Candy asked. “Everyone loved Stanley.”

  “Old Man Harrison hates everyone,” Bryce argued.

  “He refused to talk to Jimmy Beak,” Karen added.

  I raised an eyebrow. “So did we, Karen.”

  The two of us blinked at each other until Candy broke the silence. “Umm, Bryce?” she said. “Did Stanley say anything last night? You know, when he was over here?”

  “About what?”

  She shifted in her seat. “Gosh, I don’t know. Anything?”

  “You think he might have mentioned something important?” I asked. “Like a clue?”

  “Maybe?” She looked at Bryce, but he told her to keep dreaming.

  “I barely talked to Stan. He hung out with the Dibbles, mostly.”

  “The Dibbles?” I asked. “You are jok—”

  “Shhhit,” Karen hissed. “Ten o’clock! Ten o’clock!”

  We jerked our heads toward ten o’clock, where Jimmy Beak stood in the doorway, armed with his cameraman.

  “Shhhit,” we hissed in unison.

  But Gina Stone was on it. She walked right up to Jimmy and spilled a drink on his bow tie. That gave Matthew time to get over there. He stepped in front of the cameraman and blocked our view of whatever followed next.

  “Turn around!” Bryce demanded.

  We twirled around on our barstools and faced the pool table.

  “Jimmy’s blocking the door, Jessie!” That was Candy.

  “And no way we can get past the camera guy,” Karen said.

  “The public has a right to know.” I heard Jimmy’s voice over Jim Morrison’s baritone and knew he had made it past Matthew.

  I blinked at the pool table. More to the point, I glanced under the table and then at my pool-playing pal Kirby Cox.

  Bless his heart, he read my mind and cleared a path.

  “Dive!” I ordered.

  Karen went down first. Candy followed, and I took up the rear.

  I sure did hope Jimmy’s cameraman was still preoccupied, because the sight of Candy Poppe’s miniskirt-clad bottom wiggling its way under that pool table was more than the public had a right to know. Trust me.

  We crouched out of sight while Kirby rearranged the pool table crowd. “About face!” he whispered loudly. “Secure the perimeter!”

  Have I mentioned Kirby is an ex-Marine?

  ***

  “Gross,” Karen muttered and pointed to the bare toes surrounding us.

  What is it with this town and sandals, I asked myself, not for the first time. Okay, so I have a thing about bare toes. I do not like them, and I do not like looking at anyone’s feet. And just then, I was looking at a lot of feet.

  I recognized Kirby’s toes, and assumed the others belonged to Gus, and to Bernie and Camille Allen. “TMI,” I mumbled.

  Jimmy was causing a commotion, but other than those ugly feet, we couldn’t see a darn thing. We got ourselves as comfortable as possible, which wasn’t very, and waited.

  “I’ll never forget the day Audrey found out I’m a Libra, just like her,” Karen whispered at some point. “She’s wanted to commiserate with me ever since.”

  I shifted slowly, since quickly was not an option, and glared at my friend. “Excuse me?”

  “Audrey Dibble,” Candy reminded me. “Bryce said Stanley talked to her last night.”

  I may have groaned, but perhaps it did make sense to discuss Audrey Dibble in the present circumstances. The situation was surrealistically weird. As was Audrey.

  From what I could tell, she and her husband Jackson lived in their booth at The Stone Fountain. The one time I had spoken to them, Audrey asked for my birthday. I had given her the date, only to be subjected to a twenty-minute dissertation about the perils of being a Pisces.

  “Was Stanley friends with the Dibbles?” I had to ask.

  “Sometimes the four of us would talk,” Candy said. “Audrey’s always so interesting.”

  Karen caught my eye. “Who can argue?”

  “All clear!” Matthew Stone announced, and an uproar of applause exploded around the bar.

  The sandals parted, and we were just about to crawl out from our lair, when I spotted a pair of Oxfords at my fingertips. They might
as well have had “COP” emblazoned across the toes.

  I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

  Chapter 4

  Rye squatted down and stuck his head under the table.

  “Ladies,” he greeted us. He glanced at the three of us until his gaze halted at me. “Pleasure to see you again, Ms. Hewitt.”

  I attempted a most unladylike gesture, bumped my head, and muttered an unladylike word.

  Rye offered his hand, but I slapped it away.

  “I am perfectly capable of standing up on my own,” I informed him with as much dignity as a fifty-two-year-old woman could muster while crawling out from under a barroom pool table.

  I stood upright, more or less, brushed the debris from my hands and knees, and gratefully accepted a bar towel from Bryce.

  “And people wonder why I spend so much time home alone with my cat,” I mumbled to Karen. Lieutenant Densmore had helped her out and was in the process of getting Candy to her feet.

  Rye continued staring at me.

  “Unless you’re here to arrest me, Captain, I’ll excuse myself.” I tossed Bryce the towel and led my friends to the ladies room.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said as the three of us lined up at the sinks and pumped gobs of disinfectant soap into our hands.

  Candy caught my eye in the mirror. “But what if Jimmy Beak’s waiting for us?”

  “What? Like lurking outside, ready to ambush us?”

  She shrugged and grabbed a handful of paper towels.

  “Let’s wait a while,” Karen suggested. “I could use another Corona anyway.”

  Testimony to my whimsical and flexible nature, I agreed to one more glass of champagne. “I’ll need it if Rye’s still out there.”

  Which of course, he was. He was talking to Gina Stone, but immediately stopped harassing her when he saw us return to our barstools.

  I turned my back as he approached.

  “Champagne?” he asked over my shoulder.

  “It’s what she always drinks,” Bryce answered. He pointed back and forth between Candy and me. “We keep a stock of the stuff just for the two of them.”

  “We’re not being disrespectful to Stanley, sir.” Candy had turned to face Rye, and seemed to think he deserved even further explanation. “It’s just what Jessie and me drink is all.”