A Cup of Jo (15 page)

If Sarah called me an idiot one more time, I was going to smack her.

And of course I didn't ask Pavlik. That would have made too much sense. 'No. But I did tell him Kate suspected that JoLynne was having an affair with someone in the county government.'

'Nice move. What did our sheriff say?'

'He took off like a scalded cat.'

'Did he now?' Sarah said, contemplating. 'Guess Kate should be glad she isn't at the bottom of Lake Michigan, wearing concrete galoshes.'

Involuntarily, a hand went to my mouth. 'Please tell me you don't believe Pavlik would kill someone.'

'Please tell me you haven't thought about it,' Sarah mimicked me.

A moment of silence as she rose from the side chair.

Then: 'My opinion, Maggy? Pavlik is certainly capable of killing someone.' Sarah palmed the doorknob. 'But do I believe that he would physically hurt you or Kate? Or kill JoLynne Penn-Williams? Not for a minute.'

Sarah opened the door, then turned back to me. 'And no matter how emotionally hurt you are, you don't believe it either.'

She waved a hand to indicate I should leave first. 'Now, get your mopey butt out there to help. It's nearly Tennis Barbies time and, besides, Anita might be here to see me.'

In truth, it was still a good half-hour until the Tennis Barbies would finish their matches, air-kiss the opposing team, and get their color-coordinated selves over here. The store was empty. No sign of even Anita Hampton. Amy was at the cash register, breaking open sleeves of coins and putting them in the cash drawer.

I didn't see Tien. She must have called it a day – or night – and headed home. I hoped our shift-savior would sleep well. Tien had certainly earned it.

'Did Anita come in?' Sarah asked Amy.

'Anita who?'

'Hampton. Brewster's wife. And the events person for Milwaukee.'

It didn't seem to come up on Amy's recollection screen, so I elaborated. 'Tall and slim? Dresses well, with dark hair?'

'Ohh, that PR woman?' Amy wrinkled her nose. 'She's not "slim", she's downright skinny. I saw her hustle past. I wanted to toss her a muffin, flesh the beanpole out a little.'

Look who was talking. Amy didn't have a pound of fat on her. The signpost was calling the rail anorexic.

Or something like that.

'Anita has lost a few pounds lately,' I said, 'but the woman never stops moving.' It takes a lot of energy to be a pain in the ass, with the added unfair benefit of the effort reducing the ass of the pain involved.

Sarah was pouring herself a cup of coffee, seeming to have lost interest in Anita now that she hadn't come into the shop, trophy in hand, for an awards presentation. By comparison, I was curious to know where the woman had gone.

'I'll be outside.' I pulled open the front door. 'Back in time for the tennis team.'

Amy waved me along and I stepped on to our wrap-around porch. For sentimental reasons we'd retained the one piece of furniture that had been there when we took over, a battered rocker-recliner patched with duct tape. We'd also moved in lovely white café tables with matching chairs, even a couple of wicker love seats.

Guess where people always chose to sit?

Right the first time. And that banged-up chair, rusty hinges and all, admittedly did envelop you when you sank into it.

It was there that I found Anita Hampton, duly enveloped and snoring.

'Anita?' I pulled a seat away from the nearest table and dropped my rump on to it, facing her. 'Anita?' This time nudging her recliner with my foot.

Eyelids fluttered. 'Where . . .?'

'You seem to have zonked on the porch of Uncommon Grounds. Are you OK?'

My former boss jolted awake and darted her feet into Manolo pumps. God forbid Anita should be caught out of uniform.

'I did have trouble falling asleep last night,' she admitted, levering the chair up. 'And then I awoke early. I was hoping to catch Kevin Williams breaking down your stage. He's not answering his phone and he still needs to finish downtown. We have another Milwaukee event scheduled there this weekend.'

'But isn't Kevin still –' how to put it – 'a guest of the sheriff's department?'

'Oh, Maggy, I'm so sorry, I thought you knew. Kevin was cleared and released early this morning.' Anita leaned forward and patted my hand. 'You
do
know who they're looking at now, don't you, dear?'

Her tone was meant to show concern for a former co-worker in a difficult time.

Underline 'show' as opposed to 'feel'.

'I do.' Rather than give Anita information, it'd be dandy if I could pry some out of her. 'But wasn't the alleged affair –' the last word stuck in my throat – 'thought to be
Kevin's
motive for killing JoLynne?'

'Originally, I believe you're right. But witnesses saw Kevin from the time the balloon was inflated until poor Jo's body was found.'

And damned if I wasn't one of those witnesses. Great for Kevin, not so much for Pavlik, now probably the sole suspect.

Before I could pose another question, Anita pushed herself up and out of the chair. Her hands bore telltale filaments from the deteriorating Naugahyde.

'Clap them together like blackboard erasers,' I suggested. 'And don't forget to brush off your clothes.' Hey, comfort and heritage come with a price.

Anita, always the go-getter, managed somehow to clap and brush at the same time. Then she pointed. 'Finally.'

I turned to see Kevin's truck approaching. As it passed, I could just make out the burly silhouette of Kevin in the driver's seat.

'Oh, good,' I said, starting down the porch stairs behind Anita. 'I need to talk to him, too.'

Anita held up a hand, stopping me. 'In order to save time for both of us, I suggest that I have my discussion with Kevin first.'

I started to protest, but she kept right on talking. 'Then I will send Kevin to see you. That way you'll be able to be in your store.'

She nodded toward a clique of seven or eight women dressed in tennis togs, just turning the corner. While Sarah was better suited to interact with the ladies who do tennis – she'd actually been one (though, granted, only for a couple of weeks) – Anita was, for once, right: I really should get in there to help.

Besides, I'd prefer to speak with Kevin privately, anyway.

'That sounds . . .' I started, and then realized that Anita was nowhere to be seen. 'Fine.'

'You're talking to yourself, Maggy,' one of the tennis players said, as they charged up the steps, sweeping me inside with them.

'I always do that,' a squat woman offered.

'That's because no one else will.' This from a fiftyish blonde.

'Says you.' An elbow to the ribs, delivered by the squat woman.

'Tough morning on the courts?' I asked, holding the door for them. Usually the ladies of tennis were companionable. Until someone left.
Then
the pack would rip the departed apart.

'This is Buster Chops Day,' the blonde volunteered, slurring the phrase. 'First annual.'

'Bust
your
chops,' the silver-haired lady corrected. 'It means the hell with the air-kissing, you bitches.' She slapped her hand over her mouth in horror and then giggled.

Sounded like they'd done more busting open of the Gray Goose than chops. Bloody Marys all around. 'And what does Bust Your Chops Day involve?'

'You know, like the guys,' the blonde said. 'We've been scratching our balls and swearing all morning. I sort of like it.'

'I've watched a lot of men's tennis,' I said. 'But I don't recall any ball scratching. A fair amount of adjusting, front and back, but—'

'Not those balls.' Silver Hair, seemingly the ringleader, set her tennis bag on the chair and, after pulling out sweatbands and a sun visor, hand sanitizer and a box of tissues, she finally came up with a canister.

'Hold out your hand,' she commanded.

Yeah, like I was that stupid. I had two older brothers and I'd fallen for all of their tricks. The offer of ABC gum which, when plunked into my eager four-year-old hand, turned out to stand for 'Already Been Chewed'. For God's sake, I was so young, I couldn't even spell. It took me until first grade to get the joke.

Then there was Cowboys, the card game that consisted of throwing the cards all over the room and yelling 'round 'em up' to the gullible victim.

My brothers were evil geniuses. Whoopie cushions and plastic vomit were child's play to them. Fake dog poop? They had the real thing.

'C'mon, it won't hurt you.'

I studied Silver Hair for ill intent. The top was already off the can, so a paper snake couldn't leap out at me.

I sighed and held out my hand. Silver Hair rolled a ball from the can into my palm.

'Feels like a real ball,' I said.

'Scratch it to be sure,' someone yelled.

Sheesh.

I did a quick calculation. Eight customers, three times a week, buying pricey specialty drinks. 'OK, I get it. I'll scratch your ball.' Managing a weak smile, I did so, then handed the ball back.

Silver Hair examined it. 'Seemed a lot funnier on the court.'

'I think we could all use some coffee, don't you, Maggy?' Amy, who'd come out to man the window, said with a wink.

'You bet. Coffee all around.'

'On the house?' someone asked.

'Hell, no,' I said loudly. 'This is Bust-Your-Chops Day. Pay for your own damn caffeine.'

A good-natured cheer went up.

Kevin Williams came in just as the last of the rowdy tennis group left. Let's hope the blonde Barbie was right about the 'annual' part and that B-Y-C Day didn't come but once a year.

Still, the commotion had served as a welcomed distraction. I'd barely thought about Pavlik, but on seeing Kevin, everything came flooding back.

The props man looked awful. Still thighs the size of tree trunks and biceps like tree limbs, but this tree was hurting.

All I could think of was a weeping willow.

'Why don't you tell me what you'd like to drink, Kevin, and we'll take them in back.' The store wasn't busy, but I didn't want anyone, even Sarah and Amy, to be able to overhear us.

'A cup of black sounds good.' He leaned his elbows on the counter. 'What a difference a day or two makes, huh? Wednesday at dawn, everything was fine. Now it's all—'

'Excuse me.' Anita was holding the door open, sleigh bells banging against the glass. 'Kevin, you can reach me at home tomorrow if need be.'

He raised his bear paw of a hand. 'Sorry about getting our signals crossed, but we'll take care of it.'

'I know you will.' She gave me a self-satisfied smile. 'And now that the police are gone, Maggy, I'm sure Kevin will take care of your breakdown as soon as he resolves my issue. Right, Kevin?'

Anita Hampton didn't wait for an answer, instead disappearing with the incongruously cheery jingle-jangle of the sleigh bells.

'"'ere she drove out of sight",' Kevin recited. '"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!"'

'I'd love to stuff
her
up a chimney,' I said under my breath.

'Christmas
is
coming,' Kevin muttered right back.

Our eyes met and we both laughed. He shrugged. 'Anita's a good customer of mine. Things are tough these days, so you do what's necessary.'

Amen. Like hosting Tennis Barbies Gone Wild.

I hadn't realized that Kevin's company was having trouble, though, other than the pilfering of materials he'd told us about. Now to make matters worse, he'd be minus both JoLynne and her outside salary.

'Ready?' I said, handing him his coffee and picking up my iced latte.

'Sure, but instead of sitting in your office or something, can we go out to the boarding platform? I'm still trying to figure this thing.'

'Of course.' We took our drinks to a trackside door, the one by . . .

I gestured to where the machine had been. 'Did the police take your air pump?'

'My compressor? Yeah. And the inflatables themselves, of course.' He swung the door open and we stepped out, settling ourselves on the edge of the planking, legs dangling.

The stage was cleared off, but Kevin's men hadn't gotten much further on the breakdown before he'd pulled them away to do Anita's bidding.

Kevin was staring at the spot his wife's body had hit. He might look like a big muscle-bound lug, but he had the most beautiful, golden-brown eyes. And now there were tears in them. 'I'll have all this crap out of here tomorrow. My guys had to leave off on the gallows and go downtown.'

'Anita. Got it.' I wanted to talk to him about Pavlik and JoLynne, but I needed to ease into it. 'Any idea what event she's having?'

Kevin looked up, surprised. 'Don't know. All Anita said was she needed the train dedication stuff cleared out.'

'She probably made it up.'

He looked sideways at me. 'So I'd do what she wanted?' A moment of cogitation. 'That Anita, she's a piece of work.'

'Don't I know it. I used to work with her.'

'So I heard. You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.' A weak grin.

'I thought Anita might mellow when she got married.'

'I'm sure the pants in the family hang from her closet pole. That Brewster, he bends with the wind.' He seemed to remember himself. 'Sorry, I don't mean to be bad-mouthing clients.'

I rearranged my butt on the hard boards and stuck out my hand. 'Nothing we say goes beyond here. Deal?'

He looked at my palm, then took my hand. 'Deal.'

'By the way, I met your mime.'

Kevin chuckled. 'Ragnar? What'd you think?'

'Adorable. That hair? That accent? I can almost forgive him for being a mime.'

'How did you make him?' Kevin asked.

'A smudge of make-up,' I said, pointing to the part of my neck that corresponded with Ragnar's dab of face paint. 'And certain mannerisms.'

'I hope everybody's eyes aren't as sharp as yours. I told Ragnar to keep his secret life as a mime under wraps.'

I laughed. 'A hidden closet with a lone red-and-white striped shirt and short pants awaiting the next assignment? A phone booth for the quick change?'

'Yeah, only it's an imaginary phone booth, which can cause problems,' Kevin said, his lips between a grin and a grimace.