Playing With Poison Page 7

  “Perfect!” I said with a big, happy smile. I had never spent much time chatting with Evan, but that was about to change. “Did Evan ever date Candy?”

  Bryce shook his head. “I bet Evan and I are the only guys in here who haven’t.”

  “Who else did Stanley talk to?” I asked.

  “The Dibbles.”

  Oh, Lord, the Dibbles. I stopped smiling and hazarded a glance toward their booth. Audrey was leaning across the table jiggling an earring at her husband. She seemed pleased with what must have been some new jewelry, but Jackson Dibble looked less than thrilled. He gulped his drink, and when that was empty, picked up his wife’s.

  “Do you know if they invested with Stanley?” I asked.

  “They must have. How else could they afford all those Long Island Iced Teas?” Bryce looked back at me. “Why?”

  I shrugged. “If it wasn’t one of Candy’s old boyfriends, then maybe a disgruntled client killed him.”

  “But Stanley made all kinds of money for people, Jessie. He was really good at it.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Well, no.” Bryce started tapping his index fingers on the bar, playing imaginary drums. “But that’s what he told everyone.”

  “Did you invest with him?”

  “Me?” He stopping drumming and pointed to himself. “No way. I can’t afford anything like that.”

  “Who could? Anyone in here?”

  Bryce hesitated. “If I name someone are they automatic suspects?”

  “Do I look like a cop?” I reminded him I had no idea what I was doing as Gina Stone scurried past.

  “Gina and Matthew?” I whispered, and he cringed.

  “Please don’t go bugging them about it, Jessie. Matthew’s mad enough as it is.”

  Poor Bryce. Matthew Stone’s grouchiness might seem endearing to the regulars, but Bryce had to work for the guy. I promised not to bother the Stones, at least not right away, and asked if there were anyone else I should talk to.

  “How about Kirby and Gus? And maybe the Allens? They were all here Saturday. Shooting pool.”

  And apparently a couple of them had dated Candy. I turned to watch the game. As usual, Kirby Cox was being clobbered, but not by one of the regulars.

  “Who’s that with Kirby?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “John something.”

  “Was he here Saturday?” I twirled back to face the bar, and Bryce shook his head.

  “John’s new. He just moved here.”

  I assessed the situation. Talking with my buddies at the pool table would be easiest, so I would tackle that last. And it might be better to approach Audrey Dibble after I had consumed a bit more alcohol. I decided to interrogate Evan McCloy first.

  He was at the opposite end of the bar, deep in conversation with a young woman, whom he seemed to be impressing with who knows what. I kept my eye on him and waved when he looked up. His frown reminded me I was old enough to be his mother, but this was no time to take offense.

  “Get Evan over here, will you, Bryce?”

  He tapped the bar until I looked up. “Be careful,” he said. He stood still while I let that sink in, then went to retrieve Evan.

  ***

  As Karen would say, Evan was slick. Just like his friend Stanley, he was a little too handsome and a little too well dressed. Evan McCloy was definitely not your sandal-wearing kind of guy.

  Bryce wasn’t nearly as well heeled or sophisticated, but bless his heart, he was persistent. He talked, he bounced, he drummed, and he tapped, while Evan and his lady friend scowled and frowned. Eventually, Evan got tired of watching all the fidgeting. He gave up and stood up.

  Yeah, Bryce! I got a whiff of heavy cologne as Evan came closer, but I smiled anyway and reintroduced myself.

  “I know who you are,” he said and shook my hand. “Where’s Candy?” He looked over my shoulder as if I might be hiding her somewhere.

  “She’s not here,” I said firmly. I asked Bryce to refill whatever Evan was drinking, and then watched Evan look everywhere but at me.

  “What is it you want, ma’am?” His eyes finally found mine as I handed him a Long Island Iced Tea.

  “I want to know who killed Stanley Sweetzer,” I said, and Evan almost choked on an ice cube.

  Okay, so maybe that was a bit abrupt. I waited until he stopped coughing and tried a more subtle approach. “I understand you talked to Stanley on Saturday night?” I said in my most soothing voice.

  “I’ve already spoken to the cops about it. Three times.”

  “Oh?” I raised an encouraging eyebrow, but Evan only frowned.

  “Like I told the police, I don’t know anything,” he said and started to walk away.

  “I invested with Stanley,” I blurted out.

  Evan stopped and turned.

  I blinked twice but decided it was too late to take it back. I dug my grave a little deeper. “And now, of course, I’m looking for a new financial advisor.” I tried looking woefully inept about finances—a task which was not all that difficult.

  Evan smiled, and as I gulped champagne, offered what sounded like an infomercial on his place of employment. He droned on and on about how many decades Boykin and Dent Investment Management had been protecting the financial interests of the fine residents of Clarence. The report was altogether riveting, but I interrupted anyway.

  “I’m wondering about Stanley’s other clients?” I said. “I would just love to talk to them. You know, to find what they’re doing now that Stanley’s gone?”

  Evan backed away, and I remembered too late about the value of subtlety.

  “You really think I’m that stupid?” he asked.

  Well, I was rather hoping.

  “I just can’t go spouting off about our clients.” He took another step back. “It’s unethical. And it’s against the law, even if I did know what Stan was up to.”

  He finished his drink in one gulp and shoved the empty at me. “I’m out of here,” he said and practically ran for the front door.

  Bryce walked over and refilled my glass. “That went well.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Bryce wandered off to replenish Gina’s tray, and I gave myself a pep talk. Surely this sleuthing stuff would get easier the more I practiced? With that in mind, I turned my attention to the Dibble’s booth, where Audrey was now showing her husband one of the many trinkets adorning her neck.

  “What are all those things Audrey wears?” I asked when Bryce came back.

  “Crystals,” he said without even a peek in her direction. “But don’t go asking her about them. Make that mistake and you’ll end up with a big old bag of rocks.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Really, Jessie. I’ve seen it happen.” Bryce held out his arms and stumbled around, pretending to hold a very large imaginary bag of rocks.

  “I won’t mention the jewelry,” I promised. “But I should buy them a drink, no?”

  Bryce produced two more Long Island Iced Teas. “These will get them talking,” he said. “Talking nonsense, but talking.”

  I mumbled something about how Captain Rye probably didn’t have to ruin his monthly booze budget getting information out of people and picked up the drinks.

  ***

  Subtlety, I reminded myself as I approached the Dibbles. They looked puzzled, but I refused to be discouraged and asked ever so politely if I could talk to them about Stanley. Indeed, I practically curtsied as I set the Long Island Iced Teas before them.

  “May I join you?” I asked.

  Jackson grunted and reached for the drink, which I interpreted as a yes. Audrey also was welcoming. She moved over, her jewelry clinking and clanking, and patted the seat next to her.

  “We were just talking about you,” she said as I sat down. “We saw you on TV, and I reminded Jackson you’re the only Pisces I know. It’s uncanny, isn’t it?” She appealed to me with her bulbous eyes, and I agreed that it did seem uncanny.

  “And it’s unc
anny you’re the one who found Stan.” Audrey leaned a bit too close. “Pisces have to watch out for things like that, you know?”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, yes! Stan did die in your house, didn’t he?”

  I nodded. “On my couch to be exact.”

  “But how awful for you!” Audrey stared at me with a fascination I don’t believe I merited, even considering I was the only Pisces she knew.

  “Where are you living now?” she asked. “And what about your couch?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My wife believes in ghosts.” Jackson grunted. “I’d bet good money she thinks your place is haunted.”

  “You can’t possibly sleep in a house where someone just died! Murdered, no less!” Audrey shuddered at the prospect, and as if on cue, the weather outside broke.

  As the first thunderclap boomed, I confessed that I was still living in the same place. Audrey looked horrified, so I tried to ease her distress. “My couch is gone, though. It was confiscated by the police.” I shrugged. “I do hope to get it back someday.”

  “Oh no, Jessie!” Audrey shuddered again. “You really must get rid of that couch. Do not allow it back into your home!”

  “Huh?”

  Jackson looked up from his drink. “She’s serious, you know? Listen to her long enough, and you’ll start thinking everything’s haunted.”

  With that, the Dibbles started arguing over the validity or absurdity of Audrey’s claims, and Audrey was spouting off some rather complicated statistics of ghost sightings before we could stop her. I interrupted a detailed explanation of the hazards of unhappy poltergeists and insisted I hadn’t seen any trace of Stanley or his apparition since he had died.

  “I don’t see why he would haunt me, anyway,” I said. “I didn’t kill him.”

  The Dibbles stopped bickering to stare at me.

  “I’m innocent,” I told them.

  They continued staring.

  “That’s probably true,” Audrey said eventually, although she didn’t sound all that convinced.

  I cleared my throat and moved on. “If Stanley were going to haunt someone, who would it be?”

  She sat up straight and set some crystals a-clanking. “I see what you’re getting at, Jessie. You think Stan would haunt the person who killed him, right?”

  “Maybe.” Personally, I didn’t think Stanley’s ghost would be bothering anyone, but if that was the way to approach the question, why not?

  I watched Audrey think and Jackson drink until my patience ran out. “Do either of you have any ideas about the murder?” I asked point blank. “For instance, could anyone in here be responsible?”

  I scanned the crowd, and invited the Dibbles to do the same. Audrey looked around with me, and we waved at Bryce, who was watching us from behind the bar.

  “Oh, I just don’t know.” She sounded quite forlorn, but then perked right up and yanked on her earrings. “These will help though!”

  I stared at the black rocks Audrey held aloft from her ear, and instinctively touched the small diamond studs that adorn my own earlobes.

  “They’re lovely,” I lied.

  “I bought them today! Aren’t they wonderful?”

  Jackson grunted. “You’re supposed to ask her why her stupid earrings are wonderful.”

  I asked.

  “Well now, all crystals are beneficial to one’s chakras.” Audrey waved a hand in the air. “Erasing negative energy, improving one’s intellect and intuition, and so forth. But these are obsidian. I bought them especially to improve my insightfulness.”

  “Ask her how much improving her insightfulness chakra set us back,” Jackson ordered.

  Audrey pursed her lips. “I think Jessie here understands that we need some insight if we’re ever going to help Stan.”

  “I think Jessie here understands Stan don’t need no more help.”

  Audrey ignored her husband’s obtuseness. “The dead will not rest until justice is served,” she announced.

  “Oh?” I said, feeling a bit obtuse myself. I had no idea how the dead might rest, for instance, and I was clueless as to what a chakra was, or was not. Most of all I was puzzled about how our conversation had gone off on this odd tangent.

  “So!” I said brightly. “What did you and Stanley talk about Saturday night?” I looked back and forth between the Dibbles. “Anything important?”

  “Nope.” So much for Jackson’s contribution.

  I appealed to Audrey, but she was in some sort of trance. She had her eyes closed and was rubbing both of her earrings between her thumbs and index fingers, garnering up all her insightfulness chakras as it were.

  I sighed dramatically and caught Gina’s eye. “Bryce is keeping my tab,” I told her and pointed to the Dibbles. “And perhaps you would bring my champagne over?”

  “That’s it!” Audrey hit the table with both palms, and Gina scurried away.

  “I need to consult Ezekiel.” She opened her eyes and blinked at me. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Ezekiel?”

  “Ezekiel Titus. He’s my astrologer. I’ll ask him who could have done this terrible thing to poor Stan. Let’s just hope he can fit me in on such short notice.”

  She started rummaging through her purse as Gina came back with our drinks.

  “Scorpio!” Audrey proclaimed triumphantly, and Gina ran away again.

  I glanced at the handful of frayed notes Audrey was brandishing before me and recognized what she was so proud of—her infamous list of the birth dates and sun signs of everyone she knew, however remotely.

  “Here’s my list for The Stone Fountain.” She ran a ring-clad index finger down the page and tapped my name. “You see, Jessie? You really are the only Pisces.”

  I took a wild guess. “And Stanley was a Scorpio?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Audrey pointed to his birthday. “November 13, 1983. I can’t wait to hear what Ezekiel makes of that!”

  “I can’t wait to hear what Ezekiel charges you,” Jackson said.

  Audrey rolled her eyes at me. “I really must consult Ezekiel before I say anything further.” She put away her notes. “You understand, Jessie?”

  Not really.

  I turned to Jackson. “Do you have any ideas about Stanley?”

  He said he’d get back to me after his next session with his psychic advisor and commenced humming the tune from The Twilight Zone.

  “Laugh all you want, Jackson Dibble. But if you had just listened to Ezekiel when you had the chance, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?”

  Audrey spoke to me. “My husband simply does not know how to handle money. Ezekiel offered us such good advice on these things, but would he listen?”

  She waved a dismissive hand at Jackson, and I actually smiled. Maybe we were finally getting somewhere.

  “Stanley was a financial advisor,” I ventured. “I understand he was quite good at it.” I tilted my head and waited for a response.

  Nothing.

  “I invested a little with him,” I lied with a huge smile on my face. “How about you?”

  I looked expectantly at the Dibbles. But just my luck, Audrey had returned to a trance-like state, and Jackson got busy devouring his drink.

  I took my leave before he could order another round on me.

  Chapter 9

  “Cue please?” I asked as I swept past the bar, Gina Stone style.

  Bryce handed me my cue, I handed him my glass, and I kept on going. Next stop, the pool table—the blessed place where I understood the rules of the game.

  “Jessie!” Kirby called out as I approached. “Play me a game?”

  “Oh, if you insist.” I smiled and reached for the triangle, but Gus took it and racked the balls while I announced my purpose to the small group of regulars. Thanks to Jimmy Beak, everyone knew more than enough about Stanley and where he had died.

  “I’ll play left-handed with anyone who can tell me anything useful about what happened that night,” I said as I chalked up.
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  “Can you do that?” Kirby asked.

  “Ask about Stanley? I don’t see why not.”

  “No, no, no. Can you actually play left-handed?”

  “Not very well,” I answered honestly and motioned for him to break.

  The left-handed approach worked, at least to some extent, and at least playing against Kirby Cox. But our game took a lot longer than usual, giving the pool table gang plenty of time to reminisce about Stanley. Or argue about Stanley, as the case may be.

  As I coached Kirby on how best to make a fairly straightforward bank shot for the seven ball, Bernie and Camille Allen got into it. I would have felt guilty about introducing what was clearly a touchy subject, but I had seen the Allens bicker before. I do believe they were better at it than the Dibbles.

  Bernie kept insisting Stanley wasn’t nearly as rich as he pretended to be, but Camille was convinced otherwise.

  “You can’t fake a thing like that, Bernard.” The irritation in her voice made me glance up from the table. “Bernie’s just jealous, is all,” Camille told me. “Stan Sweetzer was a class act. Period.”

  “Did you invest with him?” I asked, and her mouth dropped open. “I did,” I chirped. This ridiculous lie was getting easier by the minute.

  But it still wasn’t getting the results I was hoping for. Camille bent down to tighten a strap on her sandals. I turned and appealed to Bernie.

  “Ain’t hardly likely,” he mumbled with his eyes on his wife.

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  He rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “Cash-o-la, Jessie. We didn’t have enough for Stan to bother.”

  And that seemed to be the general consensus. Stanley ignored the little people, as Kirby put it. He frowned and pointed at the two ball, nestled against the left rail and blocked by my fifteen. The poor man was never going to pocket that one.

  I turned to the new guy. “Do you even know who we’re talking about, John?”

  “Not really, but I’ve seen the news. And Sweetzer’s girlfriend.” He let out a slow whistle.

  “Candy’s cute, isn’t she?”