4 Four Play (20 page)

While Alistair recovered his poster and the pile of pastel people untangled themselves, I explained. “Alistair would be mighty disappointed if I switched genres.” I turned the bullhorn in his direction. “If I stopped writing romance, you’d have nothing to harass me about, would you? This should be illegal!”

“Your books should be illegal!” he bullhorned back.

“Book banning is illegal, Alistair! Read the Bill of Rights. Get out your yellow marker and try highlighting the First Amendment!”

Oooo. That was good.

Also encouraging—Puddles remembered his task and was staring at Jimmy’s pant leg with renewed interest. Jimmy kept his distance and even seemed reluctant to raise his bullhorn at me. The thing drooped forlornly at his side.

“Mission accomplished,” I told the dog. I was about to surrender my bullhorn and go inside when Alistair spoke again.

“Speaking of the law,” he shouted. “Tell Captain Rye to get back to work!”

I re-raised my bullhorn. “Excuse me?”

“The taxpayers of this fine city aren’t paying your boyfriend to protect you. We’re not paying him to be your hero! He is not a character in one of your books!”

I brandished my bullhorn one more time and told Alistair to take a look around. “Wilson isn’t even here.” I pointed to Puddles. “It’s this little dog who’s protecting me.”

Another valid point, if I do say so myself.

Alistair must have realized this also. He switched gears to something a bit less objective. “Evil!” he shouted and pointed his poster. And the ilk, who had been rather complacent, chimed on in. “Evil, evil, evil!”

I rolled my eyes and again made as if to go inside, but Jimmy braved Puddles and blocked my path. Apparently Channel 15’s finest had not been getting nearly enough attention.

“Like mother, like daughter,” he bullhorned at me. “Evil!”

“Evil, evil, evil!” the ilk reiterated.

I abandoned the crazy act and opted for truly sincerely berserk. “Did you just call my mother evil?” I screamed. I forgot to use my bullhorn, but I doubt anyone missed it.

Jimmy sneered. “The public has a right to know about the woman who spawned the Queen of Smut. For anyone who missed my special report, I travelled all the way down to Columbia, South Carolina—”

“Forget about the mother!” Believe it or not, that was Alistair, not me. “No one cares what’s happening in Columbia.”

Jimmy skipped a beat but quickly recovered himself with his old stand-by. “But the public has a right to know. That’s why this reporter travelled all the way—”

“One thing at a time,” Alistair scolded. “Let’s clean up our own backyard before worrying about someone else’s.”

“But the public,” Jimmy sputtered.

“The public needs to worry about the evil lurking here at home!” Alistair again waved his poster at me. “Beware, all ye citizens of Clarence!” he bullhorned.

All ye citizens?

“Beware the influence of this creature on our fair hamlet!”

Our fair hamlet?

Poor Alistair. Clearly the man had spent far too much time studying my books. I glanced down at Puddles. “He’s starting to sound like Adelé.”

Chapter 26

Willow LaSwann stared into the abyss and blinked back tears. But alas, her tears fell, not into a pool of water, but onto a dry floor far, far below.

Kipp Jupiter told her this would happen. Only yesterday he had warned her the well would run dry. Pointing yonder, into the thicket of sagebrush, he suggested a more suitable location for a well, and had even offered to assist with the digging.

Why, oh why, had she not listened to him? Why, oh why, had she sent him away?

Lamenting her rude behavior, Willow wept even more, her bosom straining beneath its bonds. Eventually she brushed the tears from her sapphire blue eyes and gazed across her land toward Mr. Jupiter’s ranch.

God rest his soul, Uncle Hazard had been wrong about Kipp. Why, everyone in Hogan’s Hollow had only positive things to say about Mr. Jupiter. He had not acquired the largest ranch in Wilcox County because of greed. Heavens, no! Kipp Jupiter was the most successful rancher because he was the most informed. Kipp understood the water issues better than anyone. And he managed his land with all due skill, preserving it for future generations!

But where was he now? Now, when she so desperately needed his help?

But hark! There he was! Willow caught a glimpse of her handsome neighbor as he rounded the corner of his barn. She would go to him! Yes! She would go over there, and she would apologize for being rude the day before, and she would ask his forgiveness, and she would ask him to please come over to help her locate the exact place for her new well!

Her determination recovered, Willow LaSwann started toward her own barn to retrieve her horse, but suddenly stopped short. She lifted her delicate, if somewhat sunburned, hands to her face and touched her tear-stained cheeks.

Oh, misery and despair! She could not visit Mr. Jupiter after all. For she had been crying. And the rugged ranchers of Wilcox County simply did not cry.

Willow plopped her most unmanly bottom down on the nearest haystack and cried even more. At this rate she wouldn’t be able to visit her neighbor for hours.

***

“Oh, misery and despair?” I slapped my laptop for the umpteenth time and warned Snowflake that I, too, was close to tears. “Willow LaSwann’s well is dry, and so is this insipid story.” I waved my arms. “Where’s the water? And more importantly, where is the sex?”

While I stood up to pace, Snowflake hopped down from her windowsill and strolled over to her water bowl.

“Showoff,” I muttered.

I watched the cat lap up her water, and tried picturing the prairie where Willow LaSwann and Kipp Jupiter lived. It would be nice to know something—anything—about ranching, wells and water rights in the Nineteenth-Century American west. Was Adelé Nightingale going to be reduced into doing some actual research?

“Research instead of sex scenes,” I said, and Snowflake deigned to glance up from her dish. “The situation has become altogether depressing.”

***

Luckily my cell phone rang so I could avoid further contemplation of my rapidly deteriorating creative output.

“Superintendent Yates here,” Gabby greeted me. “I understand you did not utilize your hall pass today, Jessie.”

“No,” I said. “Will I be punished with after-school detention?”

She skipped a beat. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Somehow I seem to inspire your scolding-a-truant-teenager voice.”

She groaned and apologized. “It’s not just you. I use that tone far too often. Why do I do that?”

“Probably because you’ve scolded a lot of truant teenagers. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me who killed Miriam Jilton. I’ve just finished another faculty staff meeting at the school.”

“It didn’t help,” I said.

“Nothing.” She might have actually whined. “I’m getting nowhere with these people.”

“Because you won’t get anywhere with those people.”

“Pardon me?”

I told Gabby I had some crucial news to report. “But we shouldn’t discuss it over the phone.”

“I’ll be right there. Don’t move.” She hung up but called back before I could even look askance at Snowflake.

“I did it again!” she said when I answered. “I’m so bossy!”

I grinned at Snowflake. “Would you care to stop by for a visit, Gabby?”

“That would be lovely, thank you. But I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

I told the superintendent she’d be doing me a favor. “Adelé Nightingale is trying to tackle Willow LaSwann’s plumbing issues. Which, believe it or not, are even more bewildering than Wilson Rye’s.”

“Pardon me?”

“Willow’s my new heroine,” I said. “And she is positively desperate. Her well has gone dry, and she has no idea what to do about it.”

“Isn’t that what your hero is for?

A thought occurred to me, and I crossed my fingers. “Maybe you can help Willow, Gabby. Once upon a time you were a teacher, correct?”

“I was in the classroom for twenty years. Why?”

“What subject?”

“Is Willow a teacher? I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m not following you.”

“What subject did you teach, Dr. Yates.”

“History. Why?”

I gave Snowflake a thumbs up and told Gabby to hurry on over.

***

“Get me out of here!” Gabby pleaded.

“Will do,” I said into the intercom and assured her I was on my way downstairs. “In the meantime, be sure Jimmy Beak knows you’re here to see me.”

“Pardon me?”

“Tell him we’re in cahoots to catch the killer. Oh, and be sure to mention my hall pass. And for Lord’s sake, get on camera.”

“Pardon me? I don’t understand.”

“Just do it, Gabby.”

Bless her authoritarian heart, she just did it. “I am here to see Jessica Hewitt,” she said. She had turned away from the intercom, however she was using her scolding-a-truant-teenager voice, and I heard her loud and clear. “We are in cahoots to catch Miriam Jilton’s killer.”

One assumes she was speaking to Jimmy Beak and had her gaze firmly affixed on Joe’s camera lens. And one assumes she also mentioned the hall pass. But by that point I was racing down the stairs.

I reached the front door and stepped out to the stoop to give my visitor the hug she so richly deserved. “Dr. Yates!” I exclaimed. I whispered in her ear, “Go along with this.”

“Jessie Hewitt!” she exclaimed.

We swung around and smiled for the camera, and Jimmy observed that I was in a much better mood than earlier.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I feel much better now that Dr. Yates is here.”

Jimmy squinted. “Why’s that?” he asked, and from the look on Gabby’s face, she wondered the same thing.

“Because Superintendent Yates and I are going to clear things up.” I redirected my gaze toward Alistair. “Superintendent Yates and I are concentrating on the real issue.”

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked.

“The murder, of course. Surely you haven’t forgotten about the murder at the high school?” I fluttered my eyelashes for the camera. “Superintendent Yates and I are in cahoots to catch Miriam Jilton’s killer.”

“Cahoots!” Gabby squeezed the dickens out of my left shoulder, and I tried not to wince.

“The two of us and Captain Rye,” I said. “Three heads are better than one! Isn’t that right, Dr. Yates?”

“Three heads!” she enthused to the camera.

“We’ll solve the murder. And then!” I directed an index finger skyward.

Jimmy looked alarmed. “And then what?”

“And then the three of us will be local heroes! I’ll be a local hero, Jimmy. My reputation will be restored, Alistair will stop his book-banning demonstration, and I’ll be able to concentrate on my writing again!”

“That will be good,” Gabby said with another shoulder squeeze.

“I can’t wait until I can get back to work,” I said and squeezed back. “That should do it,” I whispered, and we worked together to get ourselves on one side of the door, and Jimmy and Joe on the other.

Mission accomplished, we leaned back against said door and breathed a few sighs of relief.

“I’m growing quite fond of you,” Gabby told me. She stood up and brushed off her shoulders. “But what in the world was that performance all about?”

“That performance,” I said, “was for the benefit of the killer.”

***

“All about you?” Gabby stumbled out of the elevator and toward my condo. “I don’t understand.”

I got her inside and closed the door. “Miriam Jilton was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I told her. “The only purpose of her murder was to put her body on top of my car.”

Gabby plopped herself down on the couch. “You’re sure you don’t have any bourbon in this place?”

Time flies when you’re having fun. It had indeed gotten to be happy hour. And even though we didn’t have much to be happy about, Gabby again accepted a glass of Korbel.

As I poured the bubbly, I explained the details of my new theory. “I’m really sorry,” I said in conclusion. “I feel responsible.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.” Gabby waited until I was seated and made sure to catch my eye. “I know that. And so do you.” She was using her scolding-a-truant-teenager voice again, but this time it didn’t bother me.

“But Ms. Jilton was so stellar,” I said.

“All the more reason I’m grateful you figured this out. You and your fiancé have to catch this guy, Jessie.” She caught my eye. “Captain Rye agrees with your theory?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

“Because your intuition is perfect.” She watched Snowflake, who sat on the coffee table cleaning her front paws. “Now I understand why you didn’t use your hall pass today.”

I nodded. “If I’m correct, there’s no point in sleuthing at the school. However, we still want the killer to think, that we think, that this was all about Miriam Jilton. This must be kept top secret.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “I won’t even tell Gordon, and I usually tell my husband everything.” She sipped her beverage and thought about things. “This theory explains our performance out on your stoop.” Gabby was starting to catch on. “Keep the superintendent of schools involved, and you throw the killer off guard.”

“You did great, by the way.”

She curled her lip. “I have a lot of experience handling Mr. Beak.”

“We also want the killer to think he’s succeeded in ruining my life.” I pointed toward my windows and described the other ridiculous scene I had made a bit earlier. “Wilson asked me to act crazy.”

“You’re good at that.”

I thanked her for noticing and got up to rummage around in my junk drawer. I came back carrying my hall pass. “I’ll keep you posted on what we find,” I said. “But I won’t be needing this anymore.”

She pushed my hand away and told me to hold onto the ID. “You’ll need it next fall.”

“Oh?” Something told me I had better sit back down.

“Clarence High is offering a creative writing course for our upper classmen next year.”

Oh, yes. Sitting was an excellent idea.

“And guess who’s going to teach it, Adelé?”

I blinked twice and thought fast. “Gee-ee,” I said. “Umm,” I added. “Umm, I’m sorry I can’t help you out. But, umm.” I blinked again. “But I have no teaching certificate.” I threw my hands up. “I’m not qualified!”