01 - Playing with Poison (14 page)

He and Lieutenant Densmore stood at the curb talking for a while before Densmore climbed into a nearby car and drove off. But Rye stuck around, apparently fascinated by the traffic at the corner of Sullivan and Vine. He looked up and caught me staring. I jumped back, but not before I noticed the grin.

I glanced down at the receiver still in my hand. It was time to call my mother.

***

“Of course I saw Dee Dee Larkin’s report,” Mother answered my first question. “I would have called you, Honeybunch, but I’ve been on the phone all evening. Everyone’s been asking after you.”

I may have whimpered slightly.

“I am sorry about that poor young man,” she continued. “He was a good friend of yours?”

“Mother! Please tell me you didn’t believe everything Dee Dee said. Yes, I knew the guy, but I did not have an affair with him, and I did not invest with him. And I most certainly did not murder him!”

“Oh, Jessie. You know I know that already. But isn’t that agent of yours a clever girl? Clever, clever, clever.”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength while my mother sang Geez Louise’s praises. Clearly, she had figured out how Adelé Nightingale’s plight had ended up on national TV. I doubt she was dancing on her desk, but Mother was spouting off words like blockbuster and bestseller when I interrupted to ask the obvious. “You think this is good publicity?”

“Don’t you? All my friends are so excited! They can’t wait to see that new book of yours when it finally comes out. Vivian Mims says she’s going shopping first thing tomorrow to buy all your old ones, too!”

Vivian Mims is a resident at the same retirement home outside of Columbia, South Carolina, where Mother moved after Daddy died. She and my mother are becoming fast friends.

“I promised Vivian you’d autograph them the next time you visit,” Mother was saying. “You’ll do that for me?”

I promised to pack an extra pen for that express purpose. “I take it Mrs. Mims isn’t concerned about the borderline-pornography thing?”

Mother giggled. “Oh, Honeybunch. You write historical romances, remember? You can’t help it if you’re just better at it than everyone else.”

I rolled my eyes, but chose not to argue.

“Have you spoken to Danny?” I asked. I was fairly certain my brother and his wife Capers would not be quite so enthusiastic about Dee Dee Larkin’s report.

“Well now, Capers is a bit upset,” Mother admitted. “But you know how she is. She worries about what other people think far too much.”

“Mm-hmm.” I wandered back to the window and noticed Rye had left.

“What else?” Mother asked. “Something else is bothering you, Jessie.”

“Well,” I began. “You know Ian?”

“My only daughter was married to the man for twenty years. Now then, what about Ian? Is that silly wife of his causing you trouble again?”

I told her it wasn’t Amanda who was bothering me this time. And after getting her to promise to keep Mrs. Mims and the rest of her friends in the dark, I explained all I knew about Stanley Sweetzer’s murder, the ensuing investigation, and my own involvement in the whole unpleasant mess. This took a while, but Mother is a night owl and was in no hurry.

“But what does any of this have to do with Ian?” she asked as I finished the saga.

“I’m ninety percent sure Ian’s the one who told Stanley about my finances. They played cards together.”

“Oh dear.”

“Exactly. But that’s not all. Captain Rye found twenty-seven thousand dollars in Stanley’s house the night he died.”

“He must have gambled.”

“Exactly! At those poker games with Ian.”

“Ian?” Mother sounded skeptical. “What are you saying, Jessie?”

“I’m saying Stanley could have won that money from Ian.”

“From Ian Crawcheck? Oh no, Honeybunch. I can’t imagine that.”

I slumped. “You don’t think Ian would gamble like that.”

“Not with his own money. No, no, no.”

On further reflection, I had to agree with my mother the wise-woman. Having been married to a professional gambler for close to sixty years, she has a sixth sense about these things. I trust her instincts almost as much as my father did.

“But enough about silly Ian,” Mother was saying. “Let’s talk about this Captain Rye of yours instead, Jessie. He sounds just darling!”

Chapter 14

Alexis Wynsome should never have been left unattended, not even for a moment. The following morning, while Rolfe Vanderhorn was distracted sharpening his sword, dear, sweet Alexis got herself kidnapped, yet again. The evil Maynard Snipe’s even eviler step brother Derwin had carried her away when she ventured out of Rolfe’s cottage to pick daisies. An unlikely plot twist, but there you have it.

At least the woman had sense enough to scream when the dastardly Derwin swept her onto his horse and galloped away. Rolfe looked up from his task just in time to identify the man who was stealing his lady love away this time.

What to do, what to do? Another man, one with less fortitude and far less libido, might have given up on the hapless Alexis. But Rolfe’s memories of the previous night, of Alexis’s trembling bosom, of her soft, fluttery lips, her tender caresses, and her trembling bosom, inspired our hero to action once again.

His challenge was daunting, indeed. For the older Snipe brother was a lot smarter than Maynard. Derwin rode a faster steed, lived in a better fortified castle, and actually knew which end of his sword to brandish in a duel.

Rolfe sighed in despair. He would need to think long and hard about how to tackle this latest crisis.

Thoughts of the dastardly Ian Crawcheck distracted me from Rolfe’s latest quandary. I was closing my computer and planning a surprise visit to my ex when Candy called to inform me she was at the police station.

“The police station! For Lord’s sake, what happened?”

“They arrested me, Jessie. Captain Rye says Carter and me killed Stanley.”

The word I screamed into the phone didn’t exactly relieve Candy’s hysteria, but I recovered quickly and asked what had happened in only a mildly curious tone. Calm and serene—that’s me.

Bless her heart, Candy also made an effort at inner fortitude, and managed to describe the basics of what had transpired since she last saw me. She had gone straight to bed after the funeral and had slept through the night. Supposedly, she did not even hear Jimmy Beak and his cameraman traipsing up and down the stairs, pounding on my door, etcetera.

“I felt a lot better this morning,” she said. “But then Captain Rye showed up.”

Her explanation got a bit muddled at that point, but apparently Rye and Densmore had hauled her off to the police station at about the same time Derwin Snipe absconded with Alexis Wynsome.

“They arrested Carter, too, Jessie. I think I forgot to mention he spent the night with me?”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

“They said I could only make one phone call, just like on TV. I hope it’s okay I called you?”

I assured Candy she had made a good choice. “I’ll contact Rye and see what I can do. And I know a lot of good lawyers,” I lied. “If I have anything to say about this, you won’t be spending the night in jail. Ever.”

“Oh, Jessie. I knew you’d know what to do.”

“What about your parents?” I asked. “Should I call them, too?”

“Nooooo! Oh, Jessie! My mother will kill me if she ever finds out about this. And if my father hears I’m back with Carter? Oh, my gosh. Please, oh please, don’t tell them!”

Okay, so I had no idea what that was about, but agreed not to contact the parents. Clearly, we had enough problems to deal with. Speaking of which, Jimmy Beak popped into my head. But I banished the thought and tried to convince myself and my neighbor that we would prove her innocence before the five o’clock news.

Yeah, right, I thought to myself, but Candy had faith in me. Indeed, she sounded almost confident by the time we hung up.

I, however, was more agitated than Rolfe Vanderhorn and Alexis Wynsome combined. With shaking hands, I rummaged around my desk until I found Rye’s business card.

“So much for calm and serene,” I told Snowflake.

***

“Rye here,” he offered as a greeting.

“Why?” I snapped. “Why on earth are you sitting at your desk? When you should be out searching for the real killer. Candy Poppe? Candy Poppe? Get a grip on reality, Captain!”

“Good morning, Ms Hewitt.”

“Good! What’s good about it? What’s going on?”

“We have your friend in custody—”

”No shit?”

He waited while I tried again. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m very upset right now. Do you understand?”

“Yep, I think I do.”

Snowflake jumped onto her windowsill to stay out of the way as I started pacing.

“Okay, so what possessed you to arrest Candy Poppe?” I asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business—”

“Any of my business?” I did an about face and paced faster. “The guy died on my couch! And Candy’s my friend. Of course it’s my business.”

“Well then, why don’t you be quiet and let me explain?”

I yanked the phone away from my ear and glared at it.

“Ms. Hewitt?”

I plopped myself into an easy chair. “I’m listening,” I muttered into the phone.

“O’Connell admits to being at Ms. Poppe’s apartment Saturday night.”

“What!?”

“Candy’s old boyfriend—Carter O’Connell. They’re back together again. I assume you know about this?”

I remained silent.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rye said. “They’re both claiming O’Connell was only over there waiting for her to get off work. She admits to giving him a key.”

Rye waited, but I still said nothing.

“It gets worse,” he warned.

“How exactly is that possible?”

“O’Connell admits to seeing Stanley Sweetzer just before the guy went up to your place to die. Seems old Stanley used his own key to let himself into Ms. Poppe’s apartment.”

I had to agree, at least silently, when Rye made some snide comment about Candy giving out the keys to her home a bit too readily. He then regaled me with yet another riveting dissertation about why we needed a lock on the front door of the building. When the phrase ‘everybody and his brother’ popped up, I suggested we get back to the murder thing.

Rye cleared his throat. “According to O’Connell, Sweetzer showed up in Ms Poppe’s living room completely hammered and stumbled away in a great big hurry when he saw the new boyfriend. But I’m pretty sure that encounter between the boyfriends lasted a lot longer than O’Connell’s claiming.”

“Let me guess. Long enough to poison Stanley.”

“Very good. O’Connell’s denying it, but they must have argued about Candy, and then he slipped the Phenobarbital into Sweetzer’s drink.”

“So this guy Carter just happened to have a supply of Phenobarbital in his back pocket?” I hoped I sounded as skeptical as I felt. “Didn’t you say the stuff’s fairly hard to come by? And you think these guys just happened to sit down and have a drink together in the middle of their supposed argument? Doesn’t this seem a bit farfetched, even to you?”

“Take a guess what O’Connell just earned his degree in. His PhD from NC State.”

“Enlighten me. Please.”

“He’s a chemist. A pharmaceutical chemist to be exact.”

“Oh, for Lord’s sake!”

“Very good again. His past record with Ms. Poppe isn’t helping any, either.”

I sat up straight. “Past record?”

“Candy Poppe and Carter O’Connell managed to get themselves into a whole lot of trouble back in high school. They were in and out of juvenile court for years before Judge Sheppard finally came up with a solution.”

I may have managed an ‘Oh?’

“The judge ordered them not to see each other for ten years. O’Connell graduated and moved away soon after that. To his credit, he has stayed away from Clarence for the allotted time.”

I was getting the mother of all headaches, but forced myself to continue the conversation, “I’m sorry, Captain, but I’m having serious trouble picturing Candy Poppe as a juvenile delinquent.”

“Well, picture it. But I can see how this would be a shock to you. Poppe and O’Connell have been model citizens since Judge Sheppard’s ruling. Until now, that is.”

“But now they’re back together again,” I mumbled.

Rye took a deep breath. “There’s one more thing I think I ought to mention.”

“Oh?” I asked, the dread veritably oozing out of me.

“You yourself gave me a tidy piece of evidence against Ms. Poppe the night Sweetzer died.”

I groaned as it dawned on me. “Stanley whispered her name to me,” I said in a very small voice. “It was the last thing he ever said.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hewitt, but it’s likely he was telling you who was responsible for killing him.”

I wiped away the tear that was traveling down my cheek.

“And I’m sorry, but it’s also looking premeditated,” Rye said. “Your friend had just found out she was the sole beneficiary of the will, so she gave her new guy a key to her place, and tricked Sweetzer into going over there. It was a set up, which makes her an accessory to murder. O’Connell’s been booked on first degree murder charges.”

I was sobbing by then, but held my hand to the phone as Rye continued, “I still don’t know how they intended to get rid of the body. But O’Connell must have been thrilled when Sweetzer went up to your place to do his actual dying. He took the opportunity to slip out of the building and was probably long gone by the time you dialed 911.”

He must have heard me crying. “Are you okay, Jessie?”

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “What can I do?”

“Find her a good lawyer. I have some suggestions in that regard, if you’re interested.”

I was. I found a scrap of paper and took down the three names he gave me.

“What else?” I asked.

“Well, you can also post bail for her, if you’re so inclined. You know how that works?”

“I’m not Leon Hewitt’s daughter for nothing, Captain.”

***

Before doing anything, I called Sylvia Nettles. She was the only attorney I knew, and I knew she could fight like a bulldog. After all, this was the woman who had handled my divorce.

Sylvia reminded me she doesn’t handle criminal cases and insisted Anthony De Sousa was the man to call. “This case sounds right up his alley,” she said. “Tony’s the best defense attorney in town. And he loves impossible odds.”