Death by Pumpkin Spice (8 page)

Reggie sighed. “I tried to leave the house, but by then, no one was getting out. The jerk at the door threatened to call you over if I tried.”

“So, you have no idea who killed Jessica Fairweather, then?” Paul asked.

“None.”

As unlikely as it all sounded, something about Reggie's story rang true. I wasn't about to declare him innocent of all crimes—he
had
stolen Mrs. Yarborough's jewelry—but I did think he had nothing to do with the murder.

Paul's pocket vibrated then. He jerked his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and then sighed. “I have to take this.” He stood and started for the door. He paused halfway there and turned back to frown at me. “Krissy, let's go.”

I wanted to stick around and ask Reggie a few more questions, but there wasn't much I
could
ask him. He hadn't seen anything as far as he was saying, and I doubted any amount of prying would get him to change his tune. He might have heard a man and woman arguing, but since he didn't know what was said, or who exactly had said it, there wasn't anything more to go on. It wouldn't surprise me to learn the argument had been Margaret Yarborough accusing one of her help of stealing her jewelry. It would explain why the box was missing.

“Thanks for your time,” I said, standing. I followed Paul out of the room. He closed the door and clicked on his phone. He held up a finger to me and then walked down the hall a ways where I wouldn't be able to hear. I stayed put, dutifully guarding the door while he listened to whatever was being said. He replied a few times, his entire body tense, and then he sagged with a heavy sigh. He said something that looked like, “I understand,” before clicking off and returning to where I waited.

“That was Buchannan,” he said.

I knew without being told that it couldn't be good news. Anytime Officer John Buchannan was involved in anything, it was never good. “And?” I prodded.

“And he's stuck.”

“What do you mean by stuck?”

Paul's frown turned into a genuine scowl. “The idiot tried to get up the driveway in his patrol car, rather than his truck, even though I specifically told him to. He got stuck in the mud.”

I tried not to laugh, I really did, but couldn't help myself. The image of Buchannan, sitting in his car, wheels spinning uselessly in the mud, was simply too laughable. The man deserved it for all of the times he'd accused me of doing something I didn't do. I had a feeling that if and when he arrived here, it would be more of the same.

“It's not funny,” Paul said. “He said he slid sideways about halfway up and his tires got stuck. He tried to drive out, but only made it worse. He's blocking access to the driveway, thanks to those trees. Until they get a tow truck, it looks like we're on our own.”

That sobered me up pretty quickly. “So no one is coming to help?” And there was still a murderer on the loose.
That
was definitely
not
funny.

Paul shook his head. “Nope.” He pushed his bobby hat back so he could rub his hands over his face as if he could scrub away his weariness. He looked horribly overworked, especially since he'd come to this thing thinking he was going to get a night off and spend time with a girl he obviously liked. Instead, here he was, searching for a murderer, in a house full of people who had little interest in making it easy on him, with a girl he'd once gone out on a date with.

It wasn't exactly the best way to relax, that was for sure.

“We need to find the boyfriend,” I said, confident that once he was found, everything else would fall into place. He might not have killed his girlfriend, but since he'd chased after her and was currently missing, he might have seen who did. Hopefully, when we found him, he'd still be alive, and willing to talk.

“Maybe.” Paul stopped rubbing at his face. He still looked dead tired. “Can you wait here a few minutes? I need to ask Mrs. Yarborough if there is somewhere I can keep this guy until I can sort this thing out. I don't believe he killed Miss Fairweather, but I can't be certain of it. I don't need him running around, trying to escape.”

“Sure, I'll stand watch.”

Paul nodded and then poked his head into the conference room where Reggie waited. “Wait here,” he told him. “I'll come for you in a few minutes.”

If Reggie replied, I didn't hear it. Paul closed the door and then gave me a weary smile before walking down the hall to go in search of Margaret. I tried not to admire how his costume fit him snuggly in all the right places, but failed miserably. Besides, there was nothing wrong with looking, even if I no longer had a chance with him and was at the party with someone else.

He vanished down the hall, leaving me alone to stand guard. Reggie was probably stuffing the jewelry he'd stolen into his shoe or something. Paul hadn't thought to take it with him, and I wasn't about to go inside to retrieve it, either. As long as he didn't try to run, everything would be okay. All I needed to do was stand outside the door and wait for Paul to return.

And miracles of miracles, I actually did what I was told.

8

Once Paul returned to take our jewelry thief somewhere secure, I went back to the ballroom in the hopes of talking to Will to explain what was going on. I felt bad for abandoning him, but what could I do? There'd been a murder, and apparently, to top it off, some good old-fashioned thievery. I couldn't sit back and do nothing.

Most of the guests were still milling around the ballroom, with the occasional groups leaving to explore. I don't think barbed wire or threat of prosecution was enough to keep many of the people within the room. Not many of them seemed the least bit distraught that Jessica Fairweather lay dead just down the hall. Either I was dealing with a whole lot of heartless people, or she'd really rubbed everyone the wrong way. I was guessing it was more of a combination of both.

It didn't take me long to spot Will. He was standing over by the punch bowls with Darrin, Carl, and two gorgeous women dressed in extravagant gowns with those small little masks on a stick. A flare of jealousy shot through me until one of the men put his arm around one of the women.
The mysterious wives then.

The women were smiling and looking around like the conversation was an absolute bore. Darrin's, Carl's, and Will's faces were strained, as if they were trying to have a good time but just couldn't manage it. At least someone seemed to be a little upset by what was going on.

I gave Will a moment to see if he'd look my way, and when he didn't, I decided to find the hero of the day, Lance, instead. I'd eventually want to officially meet Will's friends and their wives, but not yet, and maybe not tonight at all.

My blond Hugh Hefner stood near the wall, talking with an Asian version of the Hef. They both looked surprisingly comfortable in their jackets, as if they'd worn them before. When I started their way, Jules noticed me and waved me over.

“Where are the bunnies?” I asked.

“Lance wanted me to come as Pamela Anderson.” Jules rolled his eyes. “He thought it was funny. I, on the other hand, would have felt like a fool running around in a red bikini.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Besides, I need to work out a little more before I attempt anything like that.”

“Think of the scandal,” Lance said with a grin. “Can you imagine? I'd bet half of the men here would have a heart attack. If I thought I could find one in my size, I very well might have tried on one of those
Baywatch
outfits just to see the looks on their faces.”

“Of course, then half of the women would be drooling all over themselves.”

Both Lance and Jules laughed.

“Well, I think you both look great,” I said, trying hard not to think about muscular Lance dressed up in a tight little swimsuit.

“Thank you,” Jules said. He produced a pipe from his robe, stuck it in his mouth, and blew a bubble. “As nice as this place is, I don't think we really fit in.”

“Don't worry,” I said, watching as the bubble floated over to a tall, round woman, only to pop in her hair. She didn't notice. “I fit in even less than you two.”

“Why do you say that?” Jules asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. “You look fantastic.”

I touched my deerstalker hat and blushed. “Almost everyone here is dressed so nicely.” My gaze flickered over to Darrin's and Carl's wives. “I look like a slob by comparison. I imagine half the women here feel better about themselves just by my mere presence.”

“Don't worry about that,” Lance said. “Even if you came dressed as Queen Elizabeth, you'd get sneered at. That's just how these people are. As long as you are happy, then who cares what anyone else thinks of you.”

“I guess.” I scuffed my tennis shoe on the hardwood floor.

Jules frowned at me, eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. “It sounds like there's more to it than you being worried by what a few snobs think of you.”

“It's nothing.” I glanced at Lance in the hopes of changing the subject. “Thanks, by the way. I thought that guy was going to get away back there.”

“My pleasure.” He beamed. “I played football in high school, and did a little wresting as well. I'm surprised I can still stick it to them after all these years.”

I wasn't. Lance was built. I mean, really, really built. He was the sort of guy any woman in her right mind would fawn over if given the chance. Jules was a very lucky man.

“Did that man kill that girl?” he asked.

“I don't think so. He stole some of Mrs. Yarborough's jewelry and didn't want to get caught with it on him. When he saw Paul coming, he panicked, as anyone would, I guess. It wasn't smart, but I understand why he did it.”

“And you're sure he couldn't have killed her?” Jules sounded worried, which was understandable. If he wasn't the killer, then that meant we still had a murderer on the loose.

“Pretty sure,” I said, sounding as disappointed as I felt. “He doesn't have a great alibi, so Paul's locking him up just in case. We're going to keep looking.”

A strange look came into Jules's eye then. “Is that why you look so upset?”

“Because he's locking the guy up?”

That earned me a flat look. “No, because your old flame is here with someone else.”

“I don't know what you are talking about.” I looked away as I said it.

“Uh-huh.”

Lance put an arm around me and squeezed. “You can tell us, you know?” he said. “We aren't here to judge. You look like you need to get something off your chest and we are the perfect pair of listeners, aren't we, Jules?”

“We are,” Jules confirmed. “And we won't go blabbing it all over town like some other people we know.”

I wasn't sure if he was talking about Eleanor Winthrow or Rita Jablonski. I doubted it really mattered; both were fond of poking their noses into other people's business and then spreading it all over town.

“Well . . .” My eyes strayed to where Will was still standing. Could I really talk about it? What if someone overheard and told both Paul and Will?

Don't be stupid, Krissy.
No one in this place cared a whit about what I had to say.

“If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay, too,” Jules said hurriedly, as if he was afraid their questions were too prying.

“It's just, I think I'm screwing things up with Will. I would have been okay, but then Paul showed up and then there was the murder, which made everything crazy. I've been helping Paul out with the investigation, which means I'm not hanging out with Will, which means he's off talking to his friends, and who knows who else. And as far as I know, he thinks I'm running off to the bedroom with Paul every time we leave the room. I'm not, of course, but with how my life is going, I just can't bear the thought of it all falling apart because I don't know how to handle . . .” I trailed off, out of breath, unsure how to go on.

“I'm sure Will thinks no such thing of you,” Lance said. “In fact, from what I can tell, he seems pretty darn proud of you.”

I snorted a laugh. “Not likely.”

“Oh, no, Lance is right,” Jules put in. “He might not like you running off and leaving him alone every few minutes, but you don't see how he smiles after you while you are gone.”

“Or he's smiling because I
am
gone.”

“Now, Krissy,” Jules said. “Don't start putting yourself down because you're insecure. You're a far better person than you give yourself credit for, and these two men know it. We all do. I mean, in less than a year you've made all kinds of friends, helped put killers behind bars, and have significantly impacted the community with your service, and we're talking in a good way.”

“If you say so. . . .”

“I do.”

Lance was nodding right along. “Maybe Will Foster is jealous of the time Paul gets to spend with you,” he said. “But that's okay. We all get jealous some of the time. And if he
is
jealous of what you and Paul still have, no matter what that might be, then that means he cares. Just as long as you tell him what he means to you, and he doesn't get obsessive to the point of violence, a little jealousy can be a good thing in a relationship.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. I'd never been too appreciative of any sort of jealousy, even my own. I guess it has never turned out all that great on my end, though it did feel pretty good that Will cared enough to be jealous. Bright side, I suppose.

“Just talk to him,” Jules said. “Put his mind at ease. I promise you it will all work out in the end.”

They were right. Moping wasn't going to get me anywhere. In fact, if I kept it up, I would surely lose him. What guy wanted a girl who constantly talked about how unworthy she was? I'm not weak; I can handle myself. It was time I showed it.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, feeling monumentally better than I had been. “I'll go talk to him now.”

“You do that,” Jules said.

“And remember to smile,” Lance added.

I gave them both my best smile and then turned to go set not just Will's mind at ease, but my own as well.

He was standing where I last saw him, so I started that way, despite the fact his friends were still there. I'd spill my guts to him in front of them if I had to, though I was hoping he might take me aside so we could talk somewhere privately.

I was halfway across the room when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it, but then common sense took over. It very well might be an emergency, or Paul could be calling to ask for my help again. I pulled out the phone and answered it without checking the screen, eyes firmly planted on Will, who had just turned and was watching me approach.

“Oh, Lordy Lou!”

I groaned and almost hung up. I so didn't need this right now, but I wasn't willing to be rude to one of the few people who seemed to truly like me for some reason. “Hi, Rita,” I said. “I'm at a party right now, so I can't talk long.”

“I know!” She was shouting as if excited. “I heard there was a murder there!”

“How . . . ?” I trailed off, not bothering to finish the question. How else? Someone here was probably friends with her or one of her gossip buddies. Once word got to Rita, rumors of murder and mayhem would be all over town.

“I heard it through the grapevine that Jessica Fairweather was murdered at the party! Is it true?”

I really didn't want rumors flying around, especially with my name attached to them, so I answered with a noncommittal, “I can't talk about it right now.”

Rita didn't seem put out by my refusal to answer. “Well, if it
is
true, I can't say it is much of a shame.”

I held up a finger to the waiting Will and veered off into a hallway where it was quieter. “Why's that?” I asked, interested despite myself. If there was one thing Rita was good for, it was rumors, many of which turned out to be true.

“She wasn't a very nice girl, now was she?” She huffed as if she'd met the sharp side of Miss Fairweather's tongue more than once. “I'm sure there were countless men who would want to kill her, so I'm not surprised her current boyfriend gave in to the impulse.”

“No one said he killed her.” I wanted to be clear on that so she didn't go around saying I told her he'd done it. “And by current boyfriend, I'm assuming that means she went through a lot of them?”

“Oh my, yes.” I could almost feel Rita shake her head in disapproval. “That girl was a floozy of the first grade. I swear she kept more than one man on a leash at any given time. With her money and looks, these poor saps kept throwing themselves at her, like they thought she would suddenly change.” Another huff. “As if.”

I wasn't a big fan of dishing on the dead, but if it was true, then that meant Quentin Pebbles had a pretty good motive for killing her, not to mention the other guys she'd strung along. I wondered if Paul knew about Jessica's past, or if Rita was giving me unsubstantiated rumors? I'd have to find a way to ask around without seeming like I was prying.

“Do you know the names of any of these boyfriends?” I asked.

“Well, why would I?” Rita asked, sounding as if I'd just asked her if she knew the color of the deceased's underwear. “I'm not one to get involved in other people's personal lives.”

I rolled my eyes and found myself looking at Will. He was standing a respectable distance away, mask turned in my direction. He was leaning against the wall, cane resting on one shoulder, looking absolutely dreamy.

“I, uh, got to go,” I said, suddenly not quite as interested in Jessica Fairweather's love life as I was a moment ago.

“Oh, well, I—”

I clicked off, knowing that if I let her, Rita would continue talking. “Will,” I said, stuffing the phone back into my pocket.

“You could have finished,” he said with a smile. “I'm a patient man.”

“You'd have to be with me,” I said.

He strode down the hall to join me, still smiling. Our hallway was deserted, and all of the doors were closed, so there was no one around to watch us. My heart picked up speed as I thought about that, and it didn't help matters any that he was wearing that yummy suit. He looked like he'd come straight out of the movies.

“Krissy . . .” he started.

“Wait.” I held up a hand. “Let me go first.”

Will paused, opened his mouth as if he might speak anyway, and then, like a gentleman, he nodded for me to go ahead.

“I'm sorry for running off on you so much,” I said. “I'm acting like a jerk. We came to the party together, so we should spend some actual time together. I really do like you, and before you ask, Paul is just a friend. We might have gone on a date once, but it didn't end all that great and we haven't been out together since. The only time I ever see him anymore is when someone gets killed.” Which was happening far too regularly for my liking.