01 - Playing with Poison (8 page)

“Go away,” I repeated, still refusing to look at the camera.

He tried again. “Exactly how long have you been obsessed with Stanley Sweetzer, Jessica? Have you based the heroes of all your novels on him? Just tell the truth. Can you do that, Jessica? Tell the truth?”

I grabbed the microphone and started talking. “Okay, here’s the truth, Jimmy.” I made sure to say his name with at least as much derision as he had used saying mine.

The cameraman was beside himself. He lunged toward me and must have gotten quite a nice close up of my nose. I put my index finger smack in the middle of the lens and pushed. The cameraman took a slight step backwards.

I removed my finger and calmly continued, “Basing all my characters on Stanley Sweetzer would be quite a feat, Jimmy, since I’ve been writing my books for over twenty years, and I only knew Stanley for the last three months.”

“Three months!” Jimmy shouted and wrestled me for the microphone.

I kept a firm grip, and testimony to my maturity and self-restraint, refrained from bopping him over the head with it. Eventually I did hand him the stupid contraption, but only after I made him say pretty please.

He clutched the mic with both hands while he caught his breath. “So then,” he said. “You admit that you and poor Stanley Sweetzer were having an affair for the last three months? I will remind our viewers that poor Mr. Sweetzer was a good twenty years younger than Miss Hewitt.” Beak feigned shock, but the camera was pointed at me, likely getting a close up of the evil old hag’s wrinkles.

“Well, I am shocked you admit it, Jessica,” Jimmy was sneering again. “But at last the truth emerges. Does Captain Rye know about this? And what about young Candy Poppe? Does she know about this sordid little tryst of yours? Did Stanley Sweetzer threaten to tell her about it? Is that why you killed him?”

“Go away,” I said weakly.

Proof that there is a God in heaven, they did. Just as I was about to wring his scrawny little neck, Jimmy’s cell phone rang. He mumbled something to his cameraman about the school board meeting at the other end of town and off they ran.

I took a few deep breaths, listened for the front door to close behind them, and unlocked my own door. Snowflake scolded me the second I entered, and I admitted that I never should have argued with Jimmy Beak.

“It won’t happen again,” I promised.

And if it did, I wouldn’t hesitate to toss him down the stairs, with or without the stupid cameraman.

***

I had made it back to my desk, and gotten Alexis and Rolfe sufficiently disrobed for things to get interesting when the phone rang. Talk about frustration.

“Jessica!” Louise Urko shouted when I answered. “What in the world is going on down there?”

“Going on?” I asked. Surely my literary agent, fondly referred to as Geez Louise throughout the publishing world, hadn’t heard about the Stanley Sweetzer fiasco all the way up in Manhattan?

“Babe! I’m looking at your latest numbers. In the past twenty-four hours your local sales have skyrocketed. I mean, through the roof!”

Louise was excited, even by Geez Louise standards.

“So fill me in,” she insisted. “What kind of publicity have you found for yourself? Who’s been interviewing you? What about book signings? What’s your secret, Jessica? I mean, because whatever you’re doing, I want all my clients to take a lesson!”

“How much coffee have you had today, Louise?”

“I’ve never seen numbers like this from you. Ever! Not even after you got that two minute segment on public radio last year.” Louise came up for breath. “So?” she asked. “What’s up? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“I’m under investigation for murder,” I told her.

“Murder! But that’s fantastical! How on earth did you come up with such a brilliant idea?”

I rolled my eyes at Snowflake. “My neighbor’s boyfriend died on my couch the other night,” I said. “He was murdered.”

“By you?”

“Oh for Lord’s sake, Louise! What do you think?”

With my warped agent interjecting a few ‘fantasticals’ whenever the urge struck, I summarized the basics. I emphasized I did not kill Stanley Sweetzer, and even mentioned that Captain Rye was ninety percent convinced of my innocence. Louise ignored that trivial detail, and insisted on hearing more about my ill-gotten publicity.

“The local news has been all over it,” I explained. “We have this reporter, Jimmy Beak. He’s having a field day implying I had some sort of sordid affair with Stanley, and then killed him in a fit of jealous rage.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t that be fantastical? Just think of the publicity!”

Patience, I reminded myself. “Jimmy’s claiming that my books somehow reflect my real life. He actually compared Stanley to Lance Votaw. Remember him?”

“From
Windswept Whispers
? But of course I remember Lance! What red-blooded woman under the age of ninety could forget Lance Votaw?”

Geez Louise didn’t wait for an answer. “So what about
Temptation at Twilight
, Jessica? How’s that one coming along? Because the sooner we get it in the stores and on the shelves, the more we benefit from all your newfound fame!”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Louise,” I said in an attempt to burst her bubble. “But all my newfound fame has done nothing to stimulate Rolfe Vanderhorn’s libido.”

Chapter 8

“Where is everyone?” Bryce asked as he popped the Korbel cork.

Good question. As far as I knew, Rolfe and Alexis were home in bed, but not necessarily asleep. Candy, on the other hand, still wasn’t home. Frankly, I hadn’t a clue where she was. At least I was sure about Karen. She was sanding that ugly bedroom suite and supposedly far too busy to spend another evening at The Stone Fountain.

“Just me tonight,” I said and pointed to the bubbly. “But I’ll gladly share that with anyone willing to talk to me about Stanley.”

Bryce stopped pouring and stared. “Say what?”

“I am going to find out who killed him.” I offered my most determined look. “And I’ll start by learning what happened in here on Saturday.”

Bryce continued staring, the champagne bottle poised aloft. “Captain Rye still giving you a hard time?”

“He’s after Candy now.”

“Candy?” The poor guy almost dropped the bottle. “But she didn’t do it!” He thought a second. “Did she?”

“You’ve known her for a while, Bryce?”

“Two years.”

“And she’s been with Stanley that whole time?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Bryce again looked up from pouring and I began to wonder if I would ever get my drink. “Candy’s been with lots of guys, Jessie.”

“With you?”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Why not?”

Bryce looked at the ceiling, searching for an answer. “Let’s just say she doesn’t like my Long Island Iced Teas,” he said eventually.

“What about the other men in here? Any former boyfriends?”

“Lots of them.” He handed me my drink and scanned the room. “Joseph, Marty, Arthur, Ted—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted.

“—Kirby, Gus—”

“Bryce!” I waved a hand in front of his face to break the momentum. “Let’s simplify things, okay? Which of these guys was here Saturday?”

Bryce blinked at me as it dawned on him what I was asking. “You’re thinking someone killed Stan over Candy?” he whispered. “Someone in here?”

“I’m not thinking anything very clearly,” I admitted. “But it’s worth considering, no?”

Bless his heart, he again glanced around at the various and sundry ex-boyfriends of Candy Poppe littering the room.

“Sorry, Jessie, but I bet all the guys were here. Everyone’s here on Saturdays.” He turned back to me. “I’m kind of surprised you weren’t.”

“I was working,” I reminded him. “But stay with me, Bryce. Who in particular talked to Stanley that night?”

Bryce scanned the room yet again. “Stan hung with Evan for a while.” He tilted his head to Matthew’s end of the bar, and I spotted Evan McCloy, a Stone Fountain semi-regular who had worked with Stanley. “I think they were talking about their jobs.”

“Perfect!” I said with a big, happy smile. I had never spent much time chatting with Evan, but that was about to change. “Did Evan ever date Candy?”

Bryce shook his head. “I bet Evan and I are the only guys in here who haven’t.”

“Who else did Stanley talk to?” I asked.

“The Dibbles.”

Oh, Lord, the Dibbles. I stopped smiling and hazarded a glance toward their booth. Audrey was leaning across the table jiggling an earring at her husband. She seemed pleased with what must have been some new jewelry, but Jackson Dibble looked less than thrilled. He gulped his drink, and when that was empty, picked up his wife’s.

“Do you know if they invested with Stanley?” I asked.

“They must have. How else could they afford all those Long Island Iced Teas?” Bryce looked back at me. “Why?”

I shrugged. “If it wasn’t one of Candy’s old boyfriends, then maybe a disgruntled client killed him.”

“But Stanley made all kinds of money for people, Jessie. He was really good at it.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Well, no.” Bryce started tapping his index fingers on the bar, playing imaginary drums. “But that’s what he told everyone.”

“Did you invest with him?”

“Me?” He stopping drumming and pointed to himself. “No way. I can’t afford anything like that.”

“Who could? Anyone in here?”

Bryce hesitated. “If I name someone are they automatic suspects?”

“Do I look like a cop?” I reminded him I had no idea what I was doing as Gina Stone scurried past.

“Gina and Matthew?” I whispered, and he cringed.

“Please don’t go bugging them about it, Jessie. Matthew’s mad enough as it is.”

Poor Bryce. Matthew Stone’s grouchiness might seem endearing to the regulars, but Bryce had to work for the guy. I promised not to bother the Stones, at least not right away, and asked if there were anyone else I should talk to.

“How about Kirby and Gus? And maybe the Allens? They were all here Saturday. Shooting pool.”

And apparently a couple of them had dated Candy. I turned to watch the game. As usual, Kirby Cox was being clobbered, but not by one of the regulars.

“Who’s that with Kirby?” I asked over my shoulder.

“John something.”

“Was he here Saturday?” I twirled back to face the bar, and Bryce shook his head.

“John’s new. He just moved here.”

I assessed the situation. Talking with my buddies at the pool table would be easiest, so I would tackle that last. And it might be better to approach Audrey Dibble after I had consumed a bit more alcohol. I decided to interrogate Evan McCloy first.

He was at the opposite end of the bar, deep in conversation with a young woman, whom he seemed to be impressing with who knows what. I kept my eye on him and waved when he looked up. His frown reminded me I was old enough to be his mother, but this was no time to take offense.

“Get Evan over here, will you, Bryce?”

He tapped the bar until I looked up. “Be careful,” he said. He stood still while I let that sink in, then went to retrieve Evan.

***

As Karen would say, Evan was slick. Just like his friend Stanley, he was a little too handsome and a little too well dressed. Evan McCloy was definitely not your sandal-wearing kind of guy.

Bryce wasn’t nearly as well heeled or sophisticated, but bless his heart, he was persistent. He talked, he bounced, he drummed, and he tapped, while Evan and his lady friend scowled and frowned. Eventually, Evan got tired of watching all the fidgeting. He gave up and stood up.

Yeah, Bryce! I got a whiff of heavy cologne as Evan came closer, but I smiled anyway and reintroduced myself.

“I know who you are,” he said and shook my hand. “Where’s Candy?” He looked over my shoulder as if I might be hiding her somewhere.

“She’s not here,” I said firmly. I asked Bryce to refill whatever Evan was drinking, and then watched Evan look everywhere but at me.

“What is it you want, ma’am?” His eyes finally found mine as I handed him a Long Island Iced Tea.

“I want to know who killed Stanley Sweetzer,” I said, and Evan almost choked on an ice cube.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit abrupt. I waited until he stopped coughing and tried a more subtle approach. “I understand you talked to Stanley on Saturday night?” I said in my most soothing voice.

“I’ve already spoken to the cops about it. Three times.”

“Oh?” I raised an encouraging eyebrow, but Evan only frowned.

“Like I told the police, I don’t know anything,” he said and started to walk away.

“I invested with Stanley,” I blurted out.

Evan stopped and turned.

I blinked twice but decided it was too late to take it back. I dug my grave a little deeper. “And now, of course, I’m looking for a new financial advisor.” I tried looking woefully inept about finances—a task which was not all that difficult.

Evan smiled, and as I gulped champagne, offered what sounded like an infomercial on his place of employment. He droned on and on about how many decades Boykin and Dent Investment Management had been protecting the financial interests of the fine residents of Clarence. The report was altogether riveting, but I interrupted anyway.

“I’m wondering about Stanley’s other clients?” I said. “I would just love to talk to them. You know, to find what they’re doing now that Stanley’s gone?”

Evan backed away, and I remembered too late about the value of subtlety.

“You really think I’m that stupid?” he asked.

Well, I was rather hoping.

“I just can’t go spouting off about our clients.” He took another step back. “It’s unethical. And it’s against the law, even if I did know what Stan was up to.”

He finished his drink in one gulp and shoved the empty at me. “I’m out of here,” he said and practically ran for the front door.

Bryce walked over and refilled my glass. “That went well.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Bryce wandered off to replenish Gina’s tray, and I gave myself a pep talk. Surely this sleuthing stuff would get easier the more I practiced? With that in mind, I turned my attention to the Dibble’s booth, where Audrey was now showing her husband one of the many trinkets adorning her neck.