A Cup of Jo (19 page)

'Maybe Michael hasn't given it to her yet.'

I opened my eyes, only to see Sarah shoving the last of the egg roll into her mouth. Prelude devoured, she reached for the meal's main act.

I managed to snag two cashews off the top of the pork-fried rice as it zoomed past me. 'Knowing Rebecca, I'd expect she'd want to choose her own ring.'

'Me, too.' Sarah was digging around, cherry-picking pork morsels and nuts.

I paused, fork in mid-air. The cashew that I'd balanced carefully on top of rice and pork hit the table.

'What?' Sarah said, snatching the nut – mine, by all that was holy – and popping it on to her tongue.

I stuck the remaining forkful of food into my own mouth, lest it meet the fate of the cashew, and held up a finger as I chewed.

Lips closed. My mother taught me well.

Then, after I'd patted my mouth with a paper napkin: 'What if it wasn't an engagement ring for Rebecca?'

'Why else would Michael lay out that kind of money?'

I raised my eyebrows to drive home the point. 'For JoLynne?'

'Maggy?' The tone used to explain the obvious to a slow learner. 'JoLynne is . . .
was
married. To Kevin, remember?' Sarah reached for my wine glass and took a sip.

'Hey,' I said. 'You're not supposed to have alcohol.'

'Just checking to see if you're right that Sauvignon Blanc's good with Chinese.' She made a face. 'Not.'

The only clear drink Sarah truly enjoyed was vodka. And, yes, that includes water. Unless it was mixed with vodka.

'Good. Give it back.' I set my glass out of her reach. 'You're certain the purchase was an engagement ring?'

'A diamond ring, Mary said.'

'They set diamonds in other types of rings beyond engagement ones,' I pointed out. 'Maybe it's a cocktail ring for his mother.'

'What mother?'

'Do you know Michael's mother is dead?'

'No. You know she's not?'

This was getting us nowhere. 'All I'm saying is that maybe the ring was a gift for JoLynne and Rebecca found out.'

'How?'

'Mary told
you
, didn't she?'

If you wanted to be specific, Mary didn't 'tell' anybody anything. She only asked, as in:
'I was going to the store?' 'Your book is overdue?' 'Your cat just got run over by a semi?'

Subtract twenty years of age and add a designer handbag, Mary'd be a valley girl. Kate must have had a picnic interviewing her at the dedication ceremony.

A thought that cheered me immensely.

Sarah was thinking, too. 'I just can't believe Mary would spill the beans to Rebecca. Especially if she thought Michael was planning a surprise.'

'Maybe she assumed he'd already proposed.'

'Without a ring to show his intended?' Sarah held up her hands to stave off further discussion. 'Regardless of how Rebecca
supposedly
found out that Michael had bought a ring he
perhaps
meant to give to someone else, what could she do about it?'

'Confront him.' I picked up the remaining egg roll and set it back down.

'Told you.' Sarah waved her fork at me. 'Gotta eat 'em while they're hot.'

I hate it when she's right. Normally I'm eating with Frank and the food doesn't have a chance to get cold. The dinner conversation between the sheepdog and me amounts to chewing, swallowing and slobbering, accented with the occasional 'yum'. Sometimes Frank makes noises, too.

'Rebecca –' I picked up the cold egg roll and took a defiant bite from it – 'is not afraid to start a row.'

Sarah grabbed the roll out of my hand, wrapped it in a pink paper napkin and stuck the package in her microwave. 'To recap –' she pushed a button and turned – 'Rebecca
may
have discovered that Michael bought a ring he
might
– or might
not –
have intended for JoLynne. Rebecca
perhaps
reams him out. What does he do, maybe confess?'

'Will you stop with all the "perhapses", "maybes" and "mights"? Of course, we're just theorizing. It comes with the territory.'

'
You're
theorizing. I'm making it up as I go.' The microwave beeped and Sarah removed the napkin-wrapped egg roll.

'Thank you,' I said as she plopped it on my plate. The thing was steaming now. 'But my answer to your question is, no. I don't think Michael told her the ring was for JoLynne. Rebecca must have suspected, though. There seems to be a long, convoluted history between the sisters.'

'Only, what, thirty years of sibling bickering?' Sarah pointed at the egg roll. 'Better eat that before it gets cold again.'

I gingerly tried to unroll it from the napkin without searing any fingers. 'You know what I mean. Rebecca was jealous of her sister, maybe with good reason. If Michael and JoLynne were involved, Michael would have warned Jo if her sister suspected.'

I knew the affair was fact because Michael had admitted it to me. I didn't tell Sarah that, though, figuring it wasn't crucial to our conjecture.

She said, 'So, JoLynne confided the supposed affair with Pavlik to Rebecca, to put her younger sister off the track.'

'Exactly. And, apparently, Rebecca believed her.'

Sarah pointed toward my plate. 'There's a little bit stuck to it.'

A little? The layer of napkin that had been closest to the egg roll seemed permanently bonded to it.

'And you, in turn, believed Rebecca.' Sarah pointed again. 'Try that edge. Once you get it started, the rest should come right off.'

Spoken like a woman who had dealt with paper-encased food in the past.

I said, 'Only problem: the fact that Rebecca thought her sister was having an affair with Pavlik didn't seem to stop her from believing Michael was also in the mix. Remember how she carped at him?'

'And called her sibling a slut, I might add. Even after JoLynne's body was found.'

I gave up on restoring my food and pushed the plate away. 'You know what this means, right?'

'That I ordered that egg roll and reheated it for you in vain?'

I looked at the soggy pink tube between us. 'Sad, but true. It's not what I was thinking, though.'

Sarah stood up, picked up my plate and rolled the shrouded egg roll into the garbage. 'Then I give up.'

'It means –' I picked up my glass, which contained a carefully preserved half-inch of Sauvignon Blanc – 'that Rebecca Penn had a motive for killing her sister.'

Sarah turned. 'Well, that will be good for your sheriff.'

'Yup.' I took a self-satisfied sip. 'This will give him a viable suspect, now that Kevin has been cleared.'

Assuming Pavlik listened to me. He sometimes pooh-poohed my theories for no reason beyond they're being wildly imaginative.

'Actually,' Sarah said, 'it'll give
some
one another suspect. That was
my
piece of news.'

'Your news?' I'd forgotten that while I'd told Sarah, at her request, about my conversation with our sheriff, she hadn't reciprocated. 'What, that Milwaukee County is taking over Pavlik's investigation into JoLynne's murder? I already know. You were there when Kate sprang it on me, remember? On camera, I might add.'

Sarah stood over the sink, rinsing off my plate, then turned off the water and faced me.

'Yeah, I remember.' Almost apologetic. And Sarah was seldom apologetic. 'This is more recent, Maggy. I just found out on my drive home.'

Suddenly my second dinner of Chinese food in as many days wasn't sitting so lightly in my stomach. 'Found out what?'

Sarah wiped her hands on the thighs of her jeans. 'It's Pavlik. It looks like he's been arrested.'

Chapter Sixteen

'For murder?' I gasped.

'No. A parking ticket. What do you
think
he was arrested for?' Sarah, having shifted from apologetic to sarcastic, compensated by filling my wine glass to the brim.

I ignored it. There had to be a mistake. Even if the investigators believed Rebecca about the affair, it was just hearsay, right? Besides, there couldn't be any real evidence against Pavlik.

Could there? 'Sarah, how do you know about the arrest?'

'Twitter. Apparently they were waiting for Pavlik at his house.'

I assumed Sarah meant the authorities were waiting, not the old Twiddies, as my partner so disdainfully called them. Didn't stop her from
being
one.

But, hold on: 'This must have just happened. What about the "news" you were dangling like a carrot all afternoon?'

I didn't even bother asking why she – having gotten the information en route to her house – had waited until after dinner to tell me. That was simply quintessential Sarah. After all, why ruin a good meal?

'I lied. I wanted information and figured you'd spill if you thought I knew something you didn't.'

'I
hate
your knowing things I don't know,' I muttered, still trying to get a handle on her 'news'.

'I know.' Sarah held my wine up to me. 'Hence the lie.'

This time I took the glass. I didn't drink from it, though. 'I should go home.'

'Why? So you can sulk?'

'I don't sulk,' I countered. 'I cogitate.'

'You wallow in your bed and talk to a dog.'

Had me there. 'I do not.' Liar, liar, pants on fire.

'Stay here and discuss it,' Sarah urged. 'At least I can talk back.'

Sarah's talking back was the problem. Frank seldom commented beyond a sage nod and the occasional fart as punctuation mark.

I stood up and put the overfilled wine glass on the kitchen counter. 'Thanks, but I really don't know what there is to say. I need more information and neither of us is going to get any tonight.'

'True.' Sarah had begun digging through a cabinet. 'But tomorrow's Saturday. What do you think you're going to find out on a weekend?'

'I don't know, but I'm off from Uncommon Grounds and I have to try. Maybe I'll visit Brewster and Anita Hampton at home. Brewster should have some sense of the facts.'

Sarah turned with Cling Wrap in her hand. 'You're just going to pop in on our county executive and his lovely wife?'

'Why not?' I said defensively. 'I introduced them before they became who they are.'

'Right. Makes you practically family. Anita, Brew and you.' Sarah waved the yellow and red box at me. 'Want your wine saved?'

'In plastic wrap? What's wrong – run out of Baggies to pour it into?'

'I'll just stretch it over the top,' Sarah said, tearing off a strip, 'so the wine is waiting for you next visit. Waste not, want not.'

I know when I'm being punished. 'Fine. I'll eat the egg roll next time, pink napkin and all.'

'Yes, you will,' my frugal friend said, sliding the wine glass into her fridge.

The next day, as Sarah had said, was Saturday, my least favorite day to work at Uncommon Grounds. Everyone was in a good mood – stopping by for coffee before going off to meet friends, shop or visit a museum or art fair.

They were happy.

And so I hated them. I wanted to be happy, too.

That's why I'd engineered Saturday as my traditional day away from the shop. I could be on a frolic of my own. No coffee smell permeating my hair, no signature T-shirt nor navy-blue apron.

Speaking of aprons, I was hoping my cellphone was in the pocket of one I'd hung from a wooden hook the night before. If not, the thing could be anywhere, and I'd probably need it. I hadn't decided whether to call and give Anita and Brewster Hampton a heads-up on my coming by their place. My investigative instincts said no, but my manners shrank at that tactic. Drop in unannounced? Horrors.

Anyway, I still wanted the phone and I didn't half-mind visiting Uncommon Grounds when I, too, could be a woman of weekend leisure.

Sarah was behind the counter when I entered. Having left my car on the street in front rather than our parking lot out back, I was surprised there wasn't a single customer in the place.

'Uh-oh,' I said, after checking the stand-up tables around the corner. 'Where is everyone?'

'You think they'd be leaning over an elbow when they could be sitting on chairs three sizes too small for their butts? Or, speaking of sitting, did you check in the bathroom?'

And top of the morning to you, as well.

'So,
no
body's been in?' I asked.

Sarah gestured at the Brookhills clock above her head. 'See that? Well, I opened at six, and now it's nine. Three hours and nothing with a pulse except Amy and you has come through that door.'

Hearing our voices, Amy stuck her head out of the kitchen. 'It's perfectly understandable, you know. Until we build a reputation in this new location, people aren't going to think about coming here as a destination on their precious weekends.' She pointed across the quiet street outside our front window. 'Especially when none of the other businesses are open.'

Admittedly, Rebecca and Michael's graphics and writing studio was closed on Saturdays and, even during the week, it wasn't the type of business that drew casual shoppers. Same with Art Jenada's catering operation and Christy's piano studio.

'We need something special to go in next door,' I said. 'Next door' was an abandoned florist shop. 'Women's clothing, maybe a kitchen gadget store or gourmet spice emporium.'

'One store isn't going to make a difference,' Sarah said. 'We need all our low-traffic neighbors across the street to move out, so some high-end shops can replace them.'

'Speaking of neighbors.' I looked around. 'The place looks great. Did Christy come back this morning?'

'Nope,' Sarah said. 'If this is what Ms Clean considers a half-finished job, I'm afraid she'll scrub the paint off the walls if I let her back in.'

'You turned her away?'

'Sarah wouldn't even let her get her toothbrush,' Amy tattled.

Poor Christy. But I had no idea where I'd put the thing anyway.

I went to the back hooks and felt through apron pockets until I found my cellphone. As I came back out, I held it up. 'I just stopped by to get this. Is there anything else I can do?'

I figured it was the perfect time to make the offer. No customers and the place was spotless.

'Take my place,' Sarah said, untying her apron.