01 - Playing with Poison (21 page)

Okay, now what?

Upon further reflection, I realized I had missed an opportunity by not engaging Roslynn the Receptionist in conversation when I had the chance. I tossed Stanley’s book into my purse and hastened back to the elevator.

***

“Hello again!” I chirped as I stumbled out of the elevator and brushed a non-existent stray hair from my brow. After consuming a fair amount of champagne mid-afternoon, acting a bit flustered wasn’t all that difficult.

Roslynn Mayweather was unfazed, of course. All perfectly groomed and professional, she looked up from her computer screen.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I think I left my keys here.” I made a show of searching around the chair I had sat in earlier, where clearly there were no missing keys.

Exasperated, I sat back down. “Now where do you suppose they went?”

Roslynn squinted at me. “Did you leave them inside?” She pointed a red talon at the door leading to Boykin and Dent’s inner sanctum.

I ignored her question and searched my purse instead. “Can you believe it?” I pulled out the keys. “I always do this. I drop them in here somewhere, and then have fits when I lose them in all this junk.” I jiggled the keys like an idiot while Roslynn continued frowning.

“That Mr. Boykin sure seems like a nice fellow!” I smiled like an idiot. “This must be a nice place to work?”

“What are you doing here, Ms. Hewitt?”

Apparently Roslynn the Receptionist had gotten sick of playing games. She held my gaze until I looked away—not a common occurrence.

I slumped and gave up on all the exceedingly exhausting acting. “Stanley Sweetzer died on my couch last week, as you probably already know from Jimmy Beak. I’m here trying to figure out who killed him.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I was hoping to pin it on someone at this company,” I continued baring my soul. “Since I really don’t want it to be one of my friends or neighbors. And I especially don’t want it to be Candy Poppe.”

Roslynn cringed. “I read about that in the
Courier
,” she said. “I’m really sorry.”

“Do you know Candy?”

“She used to visit Stan here. And, of course, I shop at Tate’s.”

I was offering Roslynn what may have been my first genuine smile of the afternoon when Vikki and Evan barged out of the big, bad door. So much for smiling. I swallowed a scream and quick knelt on the floor, key searching in vain once again.

“Jessica?” Vikki stopped short. “Are you still here?”

“Jessie?” Evan McCloy sounded even more confused. He scowled down at me, and I was busy devising who knows what response, when Roslynn answered for me.

“She’s lost her keys,” she told them. “You guys go ahead. I’ll help her look.”

They hesitated, but she waved them toward the elevator. Once we heard it make its way downward, Roslynn came out from behind her monstrous desk and sat down with me.

“I could really use some help getting Candy out of this mess,” I told her. “What do you know?”

“I know you’re Adelé Nightingale!”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a big fan, Adelé!” Roslynn was positively beaming. “I write romance stories, too, and you’re my inspiration!” She leaned forward.

“Oh?” I managed as I leaned backward. I glanced down to make certain Roslynn the Wannabe Novelist wasn’t clutching a dog-eared manuscript to her chest.

“I knew about you even before Jimmy Beak and Dee Dee Larkin,” she was saying. “Candy told me all about you—that you actually live in her building.”

She sat back and sighed. “I kept asking Stan about a million times to introduce me to you, but he was always too busy to bother with my problems.”

“What else do you know about Stanley,” I asked.

“Nothing more than you do. He loved Candy and he worked here.”

I was certain the woman knew more than that and told her so. “Talk to me,” I demanded and gave her one of the stern looks I usually reserve for Candy. “Candy’s in serious trouble.”

Roslynn pursed her lips and stared out the window, obviously calculating a deal. “If I tell you what I know,” she said slowly, “will you do something for me?”

I took a wild guess at what was coming. “I can’t get your book published for you,” I said firmly.

“Oh no!” Her face turned almost as red as her fingernails. “I wouldn’t ask anything like that!”

“Oh?”

“No,” she insisted. “But I’m just dying to have an editor or an agent at least read my stuff. Couldn’t you put in a good word for me with someone you know? Please, oh please?”

I thought about Geez Louise and decided she owed me one.

“Okay,” I said. “You tell me, and the police, anything and everything you know that might help Candy, and I’ll read what you have.”

Roslynn stood up and started pacing in her perfectly polished pumps.

“And if I think your work has any merit whatsoever,” I continued, “I’ll send it along to my agent Louise Urko. Deal?”

“Deal!” Roslynn shrieked and started jumping up and down. “Louise Urko!” She held her fists up in victory. “She’s, like, the absolute best!”

“If I ask you to sit back down, will you promise not to hug me?” I asked.

She dropped her arms. “Sorry.” She sat back down. “But I’m just so excited. I mean, this is beyond fantastic!”

It occurred to me that Roslynn Mayweather and Louise Urko were made for each other.

“Okay, so start talking,” I ordered. “What do you know about Stanley that I don’t?”

Roslynn took a deep breath. “I know he was blackmailing Billy Joe Dent.”

Now I was the one to get excited. “Dent, not Boykin? Over what? Do the police know?”

“Dent,” she answered. “Over me, and no.”

I blinked twice. “Keep talking, Roslynn.”

“I had an affair with Billy Joe Dent.” She waited while I let that sink in. “And in return, he gave me this cushy job in this nice building and pays me a fortune to do virtually nothing all day.”

She appealed to me, “You understand, Adelé? I’m a writer. I need time to write, but I also need to make a living.” She tilted her perfectly coiffed head toward the desk. “So I get to sit there, earn a fantastic salary, and write my stories all day.”

“And Stanley found out?” I asked.

“Stan had a way of finding out about everything,” she said. “It was kind of uncanny.”

“How did he learn about this?”

“I’m not sure, but he threatened to tell his mother.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Sweetzer would have told Mrs. Dent, since Mrs. Dent used to babysit her. The families are, like, this close.” Roslynn held up her crossed index and middle finger.

I stared at her manicure and pondered the other babysitting connection I had recently learned of. Stanley’s mother used to babysit Amanda. Who else in Clarence was part of this odd, babysitting circle of weird women, I wondered.

“Billy Joe gave Stan a promotion to keep him quiet,” Roslynn was saying.

“And some cash, presumably.”

“Huh?”

I thought better of discussing the money Rye had found in Stanley’s apartment. I shrugged and said something vague about Stanley demanding some cash, too.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Roslynn agreed.

I took a deep breath. “And the police weren’t informed of this affair?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea what anyone else around here told them, but I sure didn’t say anything.” She again indicated her desk. “Call me shallow, but I like this arrangement.”

I stared at her desk and thought about the arrangement.

“Umm, Roslynn?” I asked casually. “Could Billy Joe Dent have something to do with it?” I emphasized the ‘it,’ hoping she would get the implication.

She did. She asked exactly what time Stanley had died.

“Around nine,” I answered, and her shoulders relaxed.

“No.” She spoke with confidence. “Billy Joe was with me. His wife thinks he plays poker on Saturday nights.”

I ignored the headache I was getting and continued clarifying, “This relationship is still going on then?”

“Like I said, call me shallow.”

Speaking of which, I pulled Stanley’s little black book from my purse.

“What about Stanley’s love life,” I asked and handed her the book. “Do you know any of these women?”

Roslynn paged through the thing. “This is Stan’s?” she asked. “Where did you get it?”

“I kind of found it in his office.” I shrugged. “It, umm, practically jumped into my purse.”

“You actually got into Stan’s office?” Roslynn stared at me in wide eyed amazement. “That’s been locked ever since he died.”

“Not today. I walked right in.”

“Well, that’s really strange.” She glanced over at the big, bad door. “The cops told us to stay out of there until further notice.”

“Maybe someone needed a file or something,” I suggested. “Thomas Fell caught me, by the way. He asked a lot of pesky questions about what I was doing.”

“You should have asked him the same thing. He had no right to be in there, either.”

An intriguing observation. But I decided to think about Thomas later and tapped Stanley’s address book. “Were any of those women important to Stanley? Was he fooling around on Candy?”

“Absolutely not.” Roslynn seemed certain of that. She took a cursory look at a couple of names before handing the book back to me. “I mean, Stan was pretty popular. But once he met Candy, the guy was a goner. It was L-O-V-E, love.”

I opened to the A’s and pointed to Camille’s name. “What do you know about her?”

“Camille Allen.” Roslynn read the name out loud. “Never heard of her.”

Well, darn.

“Okay, so what about Stanley’s clients?” I tried. “Was anyone mad at him about their investments? I get the impression they should have been.”

Roslynn swore she had no idea. “I pay, like, zero attention to what goes on back there.” She waved impatiently at the stupid door. “Sorry I can’t help you more.”

“Are you kidding?” I argued. “You’ve been an amazing help.”

Because of Roslynn, I now understood the logic behind Stanley’s promotion, and I was fairly certain where all that money had come from. Finally.

I patted her knee and stood up. “E-mail me your book.” I found a card in my wallet and handed it to her. “And once this fiasco with Candy blows over, I’ll be glad to take a look.”

Roslynn stood up and started jumping around again. “I think you’re going to like it, Adelé! It’s really sexy. I mean, really, really, sexy. Just like your stuff!”

“And meanwhile, you’re going to call the cops and confess all,” I reminded her. “That’s the deal, correct?”

“When?” she asked.

“Now wouldn’t be too soon.” I headed for the elevator. “Captain Rye and I have become good friends,” I lied. “I’ll find out if you don’t call him.”

Roslynn shuffled some papers around on her desk until she found his business card. “Captain Wilson Rye!” she read and waved the thing enthusiastically. “I’m calling him right now, Adelé!”

Chapter 21

Lieutenant Densmore had delivered my couch while I was busy at Boykin and Dent, and it was waiting for me outside my condo when I arrived home. That was the good news. The bad news? Jimmy Beak and his cameraman were also waiting for me, resting their sorry butts on said couch and looking altogether too comfortable.

“Go away,” I said as the cameraman stood up and got his equipment in gear.

Jimmy patted the cushion beside him and invited me to join him for a chat. Mighty gracious, considering it was my couch. I reminded him of this fact and again demanded he go away, not much caring that the camera was rolling.

“Now, now, Jessie,” Jimmie scolded. “Let’s remember our southern hospitality, shall we? Just set a spell and tell me all about your best friend Candy Poppe.” He gave the camera what must be his standard meaningful look. “The mastermind of the plot to murder Stanley Sweetzer.”

I rolled my eyes and waited as Jimmy continued on his merry way, “Sweetzer died right behind this very door!” He sprang up and pounded on my door for the benefit of his more forgetful viewers. “And on this very couch!” He waved frantically, and the camera scanned my couch accordingly.

“You guys must be having a really slow day,” I said. “Isn’t there some crisis with the school board you should be worrying about?”

Jimmy curled his lip. “I’m surprised a divorced and childless woman such as yourself would care about such things, Jessie. You’re not exactly PTA material, are you? And besides,” he continued before I slapped him. “The parties responsible for the unpleasant incident at the school board have decided to let bygones be bygones. They’re getting married, and they’ve asked Superintendent Yates to be the matron of honor.”

While I let that unlikely news sink in, Jimmy assured his viewers they could depend on Channel 15 to cover the impending nuptials. He then remembered that his more immediate purpose was to annoy me.

“I have in my hands a note from Officer Russell Densmore of the Clarence Police Department.” He waved a slip of paper at the camera. “A note authorizing Jessica Hewitt to take her couch back, now that the Sweetzer case is closed, and the killers are safely behind bars.”

As I reached out to grab Lieutenant Densmore’s note, Jimmy held it up over his head. This might have kept it out of my reach under normal circumstances, but he didn’t account for the heels I was wearing. I snatched it from him and mumbled something about trespassing on private property.

Undeterred, he faced the camera. “In fact,” he continued ominously, “Channel 15 has just verified Captain Wilson Rye has left town. Now that Candy Poppe and her ilk are behind bars, he’s decided to take an extended vacation.”

“What!?”

“That’s right, Jessie. Captain Rye is that sure your best friend is a cold-blooded murderer!” Looking like the Grim Reaper dressed in plaid, Jimmy lifted a long and crooked index finger and pointed it at my face.

Of course, the camera was also pointed at my face while he recited a thorough litany of Candy and Carter’s past transgressions. Reminding his viewers that they had a right to know, he took pains to describe Candy in the most unflattering terms.

“How long have you known Candy Poppe was a convicted felon, Jessie?” Jimmy didn’t wait for an answer. “And how about Carter O’Connell? And what about that charge of Grand Theft Auto? What possible explanation can you give for your best friend’s, shall we say, interesting past?”