01 - Playing with Poison (26 page)

It was my turn to glare, but when Matthew actually smiled, I thought it a good idea to smile back.

“Would you just cool it?” he asked. “Stop bugging my paying customers and let your new boyfriend handle things?”

“Wilson Rye is not—” I closed my eyes and tried again. “Okay.” I opened my eyes. “If I promise not to bother anyone else, will you at least answer a few questions for me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Before he decided he might, I quick counted out my questions on my fingers. “Who did Stanley talk to that night after the Dibbles?” I asked. “When did he leave? Did you and Gina invest with the guy? And do you know anyone else who did?”

“Other than you?”

I reminded Matthew I was the one asking the questions, and he again mumbled something about feeling sorry for Rye. I waited patiently.

He sighed dramatically and stuck a beefy thumb in the air. “One—I didn’t notice Stan leave that night, but Gina did. She told the cops it was after he talked to Audrey.” His index finger appeared. “Two—yes, we invested a little with Stan.” His middle finger. “But other than you, I don’t know anyone else who wasted their money with him.”

“You lost it all?”

“It wasn’t much, and we didn’t kill him over it. We’re not idiots.”

I assured him I knew that. “But maybe some other disgruntled client did kill him,” I suggested. “It’s one of my theories anyway.”

Matthew tilted his head and studied me.

“What?” I asked.

“Gina and I have been thinking the exact opposite.”

“Excuse me?”

“We think it was someone Stan wouldn’t take money from. One of the poor slobs who still believed his lies about returns on investments and portfolios and all that crap.”

He pointed to the bar and reiterated what I already knew—that lots of the regulars at The Stone Fountain didn’t have the financial wherewithal for Stanley to be interested. “He called them ‘The Little People’ right to their faces, Jessie. Said they weren’t worth his effort.”

“He humiliated people,” I said quietly.

“Guys his own age mostly—my bartender, all your friends at the pool table. Just about every guy in there was insulted by that pompous—”

“Girlfriend!” Karen called out, and Matthew and I both jumped.

She hurried down Sullivan Street to join us. “We were worried you’d been kidnapped by Jimmy Beak. Bryce and Gina are looking for you, big guy.” She punched Matthew’s bicep and turned to me. “And John the New Guy is looking for you.”

“Me?” I asked as the three of us walked back to the bar.

“Everyone wants him to shoot a game against you, Jess. No one’s beaten him all night.”

***

Bryce handed off my cue stick as I rounded the bar, and Candy clapped her hands in glee. “Gosh, Jessie,” she said, “John’s been winning right and left.” She bestowed a smile on the guy and he actually blushed. “But I told him no way he could beat you!”

“She also told him she’d go out with him if he did,” Karen whispered from behind me.

Gus racked the balls, and John invited me to break, but I declined and watched while he did the honors. Not too impressive, but certainly better than anything Kirby Cox had ever managed.

I assessed the table and decided on the stripes. I pocketed the nine ball and made one of my rather brilliant bank shots off the ten ball to down the thirteen. Amid murmurs of appreciation, I prowled around the table.

I love my hobby. The sound of cue balls clinking and clanking into pool balls is good for my heart and soul. And mind. I purposely flubbed on the twelve ball so as to give John a turn.

He stepped up to the table and set to work on the solids. But I barely had time to enjoy a bit of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon,” before he missed a shot at the two ball.

I frowned at the table, which was mine for the taking. “Would you like a lesson?” I asked, and he nodded eagerly.

“Okay then. My daddy taught me never to ignore the leave.” I pointed to my next, very easy, shot. “It’s important to think about where the cue ball will end up after each shot. Never leave it easy for your opponent.”

John frowned at the fifteen ball. “I’m about to lose, aren’t I?”

I shrugged and bent over the table. The fifteen ball disappeared, as did the ten. But Candy was having so much fun watching John, and John was having fun, and I was having fun, too. Shooting pool was way more rewarding than sleuthing. I smiled to myself and missed on that pesky twelve ball once again.

While John took another turn, I stepped away and Karen handed me my glass. The champagne was incredibly warm and flat by then, but I took a sip or two anyway and set my glass down next to where Bryce was concocting some more Long Island Iced Teas.

John missed on the one ball and again it was my turn.

This time I really couldn’t help but clear the rest of the stripes. I did so, called the shot, and took aim for the eight ball. But just as I was in mid-swing, Bryce hollered out to Gina to come pick up some more drinks for the Dibbles.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

Chapter 26

Looking back, I’m surprised my stick even made contact with the cue ball. But it did. In fact, I hit it way too hard and scratched.

“Holy shit!” I heard Kirby and Gus hiss through the ringing in my ears.

I stood upright and faced the bar. Karen and Candy stared at me, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces. Bryce was behind them, mouth agape and eyes wide. I sensed John at my side, but my vision had blurred.

“Good game, Jessie.” He was holding out his hand to me. “I guess I really am having a streak of luck tonight.”

I shook his hand and mumbled a ‘Congratulations.’

“Are you feeling okay, ma’am?”

“What?” I gazed blindly at the wall behind him. “Oh, yes. I’m fine.” I blinked until I could focus again. “Umm, John,” I said as calmly as possible. “Why don’t you play a game with Candy?”

I managed the three steps to the bar and handed Candy my cue. “John’s going to teach you how to play,” I told her. “I’m going home now.”

“Are you okay, Jess?” Karen still had a stricken look on her face, but I venture to guess it wasn’t nearly as stricken as the look on mine.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I guess I just lost my concentration.”

“Say what? At pool?”

“No, really.” I caught sight of Bryce. “But I have a terrible headache. I need to go home now.”

Candy and Karen both insisted on leaving with me, but I declined. “No, no.” I backed away. “I’ll be fine once I take an Advil.”

I turned and headed for the door. Karen called out something about me being out of Advil, and Roger Waters was insisting he’d meet me on the moon, but I was not inclined to stay and argue with either of them.

***

I stumbled out to the sidewalk and into Jimmy Beak and the entire Channel 15 News crew. Jimmy asked some snide question about how I had managed to get a known killer out on bail, but I was not inclined to argue with him either. I kept going and had made it halfway across Sullivan Street before I realized he was following me.

I swung around and promptly got knocked over by the cameraman who hadn’t stopped in time to avoid me. Of course, he didn’t bother to help me up—he was too busy filming.

“Why the hell are you following me!?” I snapped at Jimmy as I struggled to my feet. I turned him toward the bar and gave his bottom that swift kick I had been fantasizing about all week. “The killer is in there with Candy, you idiot!”

I was about to kick him again, but Jimmy was already off and running, flailing his arms and shouting out orders. “Corner her! Blockade the pool table this time! Don’t let her get away!”

With a great deal of pushing and shoving, and a few exclamations of “Candy Poppe! Candy Poppe!” the entire Channel 15 News crew followed their fearless leader and disappeared into the bar.

Horns blared and I almost fell down again. Apparently, I was still standing in the middle of the street. Waving apologies to various cars, I ran toward my building. Candy would just have to deal with Jimmy Beak without me.

I needed to call Captain Rye.

***

But whatever adrenaline had given me strength out on Sullivan Street vanished the moment I entered the lobby. My knees were shaking so badly I actually tried using the elevator. No luck there, so I straggled all too slowly up the stairs and into my condo.

Even Snowflake was concerned when she saw me. She followed after me, meowing loudly, as I practically crawled to the bathroom to be sick. Afterwards I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth.

I looked in the mirror and willed myself to stop shaking. “Please let me be wrong,” I whispered to my reflection. But I knew I wasn’t.

Snowflake continued yowling.

“Fresh air,” I told her. I grabbed my cell phone and Rye’s business card and she followed me up to the roof.

I didn’t expect to find him at his desk at that time of night, and I was right. I left him a message to call me no matter what the time and tried his cell phone.

“Rye here,” he answered.

Thank you, God. I plopped down on the nearest bench.

“It’s Bryce, Captain.”

Chapter 27

“Where are you?”

“Didn’t you hear me? It’s Bryce Dixon!”

“Answer me, Ms. Hewitt.”

“Who cares where I am? Where are you?” I noticed some background noise on Rye’s end. “It sounds like you’re in your car. Don’t tell me you’re still on that stupid, stupid, vacation. I need you here!”

“I’m on my way. But where are you?”

I stared at The Stone Fountain, and for no good reason, noticed the lovely full moon hovering over the building. “I was at the bar—”

“Shhhit!”

“Was,” I repeated. “But I’m home now.”

“Thank God. Now stay put,” he ordered. “I mean it this time.”

“Don’t you even want to hear why I know it’s Bryce?”

He must have driven another mile before answering. “We need three things,” he said eventually. “Motive, means, and opportunity. What do you got?”

“Opportunity, definitely,” I said. “That’s how I figured it out. Bryce served Stanley his drinks that night. All of his drinks. Even when he was sitting with the Dibbles.”

“And?”

“And,” I said impatiently, “Bryce and Matthew never venture out from behind the bar to deliver drinks. That’s Gina’s job.”

I waited for Rye to tell me how brilliant and clever I am. When he didn’t, I continued, “I’m guessing Bryce started poisoning Stanley’s drinks when he was sitting at the bar with Evan. But remember you told me it would take a whole lot of Phenobarbital to kill someone that young?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So it must have thwarted his whole plan when Stanley up and joined the Dibbles. Bryce had to keep the poison flowing. And he had to be sure it was put in front of the right person.”

“Very nice, Ms. Hewitt.”

I was about to pat myself on the back when Rye mentioned motive. “You got that, too?”

“Matthew has an interesting theory,” I said.

“You’ve been talking to Matthew Stone? You really are brave.”

“He was a bit grouchy,” I admitted. “But he gave me an idea. This wasn’t about Stanley’s clients at all. It was about the people he ignored. Matthew thinks Stanley insulted someone one too many times about their lack of funds.”

“Bryce Dixon was one of the ‘Little People.’”

“Exactly!” I said, thrilled that Wilson Rye was finally beginning to appreciate my logic. “You’ve heard about those insults? Bryce must have been tired of the humiliation.”

“Enough to kill?”

I blinked at Snowflake, who was sitting on Karen’s railing staring at the moon. “Okay, maybe not. But Ezekiel Titus was on to something, too.”

“The astrologer?” Rye was incredulous.

“He insists it was jealousy.” I thought a second. “And you said it yourself. That first morning you accused me of murder, remember?”

Rye groaned.

“Jealousy,” I repeated. “Bryce was jealous of Stanley’s love life. He’s infatuated with Candy Poppe.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I never noticed it.”

“You mean, your intuition failed you?”

“Okay, be sarcastic. But Bryce is so jittery around her. And he’s always giving her free food. However,” I added, “he’s just about the only guy in that bar Candy’s never dated. Yet another blow to his ego.”

“Now do you see why we’ve kept Carter O’Connell behind bars?”

I sat up straight. “To keep him away from Bryce?”

“More like the opposite. When things started falling into place with Dixon, I convinced O’Connell to stay in jail for a couple extra nights. It would keep him safe in case Dixon went even further off the deep end.”

I whimpered, and bless her feline heart, Snowflake sensed I needed support. She hopped down from the railing and into my lap.

“Anger, humiliation, jealousy.” I petted the cat and frowned. “Even I have to admit, it all seems a rather flimsy excuse for murder.”

“Maybe, but he’s done it before.”

“Excuse me?” I squeaked.

“You know anything about Dixon’s past?”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “Why am I guessing not?”

“He’s not from Missouri like he’s told you. He’s from a little town in Tennessee. His real name is Keith Webb. And he killed a kid when he was in high school.”

I was starting to shake again.

“For the same reason,” Rye continued. “Jealous of his love life. It appears he wanted the poor kid’s girlfriend for himself. She still swears Webb—that’s Dixon to you—asked her to the Junior Prom not two hours after her boyfriend was found dead.”

I had to ask, “And somehow it’s clear Bryce killed this boyfriend?”

“Clear if you know what you’re looking for. But they could never prove he stole the Phenobarbital from his mother.”

I shook my head. “You’re losing me.”

“Remember, Ms. Hewitt—motive, means, and opportunity. Have you given any thought to means?”

I gave some thought to means. “Umm,” I said slowly. “Do veterinarians use Phenobarbital?”

“Densmore did the research. It’s used to treat canine epilepsy.”

“The poor dogs.”

“The poor kid, you mean. Webb’s mother’s denied he took the Phenobarbital from her clinic, and the records back then weren’t always computerized. It couldn’t be proven. And he had the right connections. One grandfather was a judge and the other was best friends with the mayor.”