Double Shot (12 page)

Wilson insisted it had possibilities and helped himself to my champagne.

“We need to warn Karen,” I told Candy as Wilson replenished my glass. “Next to Bobby Decker, Henry’s her favorite dance partner.”

Wilson addressed Candy. “What about the cowboy? Did you ask Mackenzie about him?”

“Mm-hmm. We talked about boys, just like you said to, and Mackenzie thinks Bobby’s real cute. But she swore to God and crossed her heart that Angela didn’t like Bobby.”

“So he was lying about their fling?”

“Mm-hmm.” Candy bounced a bit. “But Angela did have a boyfriend at the Wade On Inn.”

“Who?” Wilson and I asked in unison.

She sighed. “I’m still working on that, okay? It was an older man. That’s all Mackenzie would say.”

Wilson mentioned that every man at the Wade On Inn would seem old to Mackenzie, and I suggested in might have been Fritz Lupo.

“The two of them had plans to go out on the road and do some hustling together.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “So those afternoon lessons he was giving her had a purpose?”

“Apparently so. Although not everyone agrees on that. Bobby and Avis Sage think they were about to head off, but Melissa, Spencer, and Kevin insisted Fritz and Angela had no plans to go anywhere.” I sipped my champagne. “You need to talk to Kevin, Wilson.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s about to blow his cover. He was purposely provoking people tonight. That’s not how an undercover cop should act.”

“The quiet guy in glasses is a cop?” Candy was incredulous.

“Oh, yeah,” I answered without thinking. “So what do you think, Sweetie? Was Fritz Angela’s older man?”

“No. Mackenzie says Melissa’s the one who liked Fritz.”

“Melissa? But she has a crush on Spencer.”

Wilson interrupted and suggested we move on from the love triangles. “Anything else from the Quinns?” he asked Candy.

“Angela saved Elsa from trouble with the IRS,” she said. “Did you know that, Wilson? Angela was this great bookkeeper, and she helped Elsa so she wouldn’t have to sell the Wade On Inn.”

“So Bobby Decker might be telling Karen the truth?” I asked. “That Elsa’s on the verge of bankruptcy?”

“No, Jessie,” Candy corrected me. “Angela fixed things.”

“But what if Elsa can’t find a replacement for her?” Wilson asked. “Elsa Quinn’s a disaster at finances. Densmore’s checked the tax records.”

A fleeting thought of my ex-husband’s new bookkeeping business crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. Ian could use the work, but I was growing rather fond of Elsa.

I took a deep breath. “So why can’t Tiffany Sass be given these boring jobs, like background checks on Pastor Muckenfuss and tax checks on Elsa Quinn?”

“Because, Jessie, Denmsore lives to uncover that kind of information. Sergeant Sass has other talents.”

You can imagine my glare?

Chapter 14

“Speaking of talent.” Wilson held my eye. “How much did you win tonight?”

“I did quite well. Thank you for asking.”

“You learn anything interesting?”

“Fritz Lupo won a ton of money the night he got shot.”

“And he was drunk,” Candy added.

“So where’s the money now?” Wilson asked.

I thought about it. “No one mentioned that. It wasn’t found with Fritz?”

“Nope.”

“Do you think he was robbed?” I asked, suddenly intrigued by the money.

“I’ve said all along this was about a bet gone bad.”

I sighed. “You were right about Avis Sage, too. He told me he has a bad heart. He’s content, though.”

“Content as long as he’s winning,” Wilson mumbled. “What else?”

“Well, Ethel and Doreen still puzzle me. There’s some odd history between those old ladies. Something other than their sons being business partners.”

“Tiffany Sass and I paid a visit to A & B Developers,” Wilson said.

“Oh? I’m surprised they were open on a Saturday night.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “Abernathy and Buxton could be involved in this mess.”

“You think they killed people just to scare their mothers away from the Wade On Inn?”

“A and B are brutal about getting what they want,” he reminded me.

“But murder?” Candy asked, and he shrugged.

“We had to check it out,” Wilson explained. “But George Abernathy and Paul Buxton both have alibis for the nights in question.” He looked back and forth between Candy and me. “Anything else?

“Melissa Purcell’s hard to read,” I offered. “She’s so testy, but at the same time, she seems desperate for friends. She adores Spencer.”

Candy sat forward. “Should we tell him my theory now, Jessie?” She didn’t wait for my answer, but plunged on in and announced that Spencer’s wife did it.

“Did what?” Wilson asked.

“Like, duh! The murders! You know, since Spencer gambles so much? I bet his wife is pretty mad about it. Just like Mrs. Marachini.”

“Who?”

“The polka dot lady,” I explained, and before he could even think of a response to that, I suggested we stick to Spencer’s wife.

Wilson surprised me when he told us he had already checked into Dixie Wellington-Erring. “She has an alibi. At least for the second night in question.”

“She’s thrown Spencer out,” I said.

“He told you this?”

“Oh, yes. And if you ask me, it’s no wonder. The man is a professional flirt.”

Candy groaned. “All the women like Spencer except me.”

“You either love him or you hate him,” I said.

“What about you?” Wilson asked me. “Do you love him?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Never fear. Spencer’s too young for me.”

“Everyone but Avis Sage is too young for you, darlin.’”

***

“So enlighten me, Captain Rye,” I said as I unlocked my door a bit later. “Where were you and Tiffany tonight?”

I folded my arms and waited, determined to hold my ground on the threshold with much more resolve than I had shown the previous night.

Wilson shook his head. “Can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both. I don’t trust you.”

I guffawed. “You don’t trust me? Now that’s rich.”

“I’ll tell you what’s rich—Ian Crawcheck being spotted in the Wade On Inn parking lot this afternoon.” He reached for my elbow and moved us inside. “We need to talk.”

I mouthed a four-letter word to Snowflake and allowed my soon-to-be ex-beau to steer me into the kitchen before pulling away.

“Let me guess.” I took a seat at the counter. “You have someone staking out the parking lot?”

“Very good.” He turned on the stove and slammed my poor tea kettle onto the burner. “Officer Richardson called in that some fool pretending to be bird watching was out there taking pictures of the premises.”

“I told Ian to be discreet,” I mumbled.

It was Wilson’s turn to use that four-letter word. “Richardson didn’t recognize him. But he ran the plates and called me.” Wilson slammed the cups onto the counter. “‘Should I arrest him?’ he asks me.”

I grimaced. “Did he?”

“Nooo. Crawcheck should already be in jail for the crap he pulled last summer. But no, we did not arrest him.”

He took a very long, deep breath. “What were you thinking, Jessie? And what the hell does your ex-husband know about what’s going on at the Wade On Inn? And your involvement in it?”

“Nothing,” I said, and before he popped an artery, I related the story I had used to lure Ian out there. “Trust me, Wilson. He really doesn’t know what I’ve been up to. He has no idea he was helping with our investigation.”

“Our investigation!” Wilson practically shouted the ‘our.’

“Shall we check out his pictures?” I asked. “I’m sure he sent them, but I haven’t had a chance to look.”

I hopped off the barstool and started moving toward my computer, but Wilson told me to stop. “You’re a little scary. You know that?”

“Do you want to see the pictures or not?” I asked from the middle of the room.

“Not.” He beckoned me to sit back down and handed me my cup. “Believe it or not, my people took lots of photos themselves. I know what the crime scene looks like, for God’s sake.”

“But I don’t,” I argued. “I haven’t had a good chance to study that spot where the bodies were dumped. It’s always dark by the time I get out there.”

Wilson continued frowning as I continued arguing. “I wanted to see if it would be possible for an old person to push two bodies into the waterfalls.”

“I already told you, Jessie. It is possible. Why can’t you believe me?”

I mumbled some lame excuse about liking to get a clearer idea on my own.

“What’s the deal with you and your ex-husband, anyway?” he continued with the pesky questions.

I petted Snowflake, who had joined us at the counter. “I suppose you know about his new business? And its location?”

“I do now. I did some checking after his stunt this afternoon. Tell me why he’s set up shop in your backyard.”

I had no idea, but I bit the bullet and explained the showering arrangement. Despite Wilson’s huffs and puffs, I was even honest enough to mention the lunch I had served Ian that day, and the lunch I was planning to give him the next.

I did, however, consider it wise to skip the details about the fancy bacon from Wellington Market. I also decided to leave it to some other time before presenting Wilson with the goodies I had purchased for him and his cats. It was, perhaps, not the best moment to mention my excursion to Wellington’s?

“How long is this deal going to last?” Wilson pointed toward my bathroom. “I’m not all that crazy about Ian Crawcheck running around naked in here.”

Okay, so I may have grinned. Just a little. Then I assured my beau I had no intention of ever seeing Ian in the buff again. “And don’t worry. His lowdown, conniving, and altogether despicable new wife Amanda is bound to ask him to come home sooner or later.”

I mumbled something about how late it was getting and led Wilson to the door, where he couldn’t resist the urge to scold me one more time about my status as an amateur and a civilian.

“Concentrate on the pool table,” he said. “Leave the rest of the investigation to me.”

“To you and Tiffany Sass, you mean. Where were you two tonight?”

“I’m not telling you that, Jessie. The less you know, the better.”

“This, after I’ve been so forthright about Ian. Goodnight, Captain.” I tried to shut the door, but he stopped me.

“What?” I snapped.

“I was just going to thank you for doing such a great job of disguising yourself.” He glanced at the top of my head.

“Make one comment about my hair, Wilson Rye, and I swear to God, I will never speak to you again.”

“No really, Jessie. It’s great.” He continued staring and frowning. “But—“

“But what?”

“Well,” he sang. “With your hair like that you remind me of someone.” He squinted. “Someone from an old sitcom, maybe?”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “Eddie Munster?”

“That’s it!” he exclaimed and clapped his hands.

When I opened my eyes he was pointing to my necklace. “Eddie Munster goes Hawaiian,” he said.

I shut the door.

***

“What?” I asked the cat as I made a beeline for my computer.

She was watching me with those baleful gold eyes, no doubt wondering what possible excuse I could have for treating the charming Wilson Rye with such disdain.

“The man’s been out gallivanting with Tiffany La-Dee-Doo-Da Sass all night. I have a right to know where they were.”

I pointed to the computer and sat down. And I had a right to check out Ian’s pictures. After all, if he risked life, limb, and arrest to get the stupid shots, the least I could do was take a look.

While the internet booted up, I took off Candy’s seashells and placed them on the windowsill. Snowflake jumped up and tapped at them while I studied the photos Ian had e-mailed.

Unfortunately, Wilson was right. It would probably require some strength to toss a body over the safety railing which separated the Wade On Inn parking lot from the depths of Shinkle Creek. But almost anyone would be capable of shoving a dead body underneath that barrier. Even Avis Sage. Or even Ethel, or Doreen.

So much for narrowing down the list of suspects. “Well darn,” I said to Snowflake and closed my computer.

But then a new idea occurred to me, and I called my mother.

It was after one a.m., but Mother is a night owl. She picked up on the first ring, and I immediately told her there was nothing wrong. She may stay up until all hours, but she knows I usually do not.

“But something is wrong, Honeybunch,” she argued. “Is Wilson okay? Snowflake?”

I thought about my soon-to-be ex-beau and lied, “Everyone’s fine, Mother. But I do have a favor to ask of you. A big favor.”

Chapter 15

The dress shop was spinning. Or at least that’s how it felt to Sarina Blyss. The stricken girl trembled in stunned silence as Constable Klodfelder listed the criminal charges against her. Not only was Agnes Blyss claiming ownership of the golden necklace, but she was also insisting Sarina did not even exist!

The Constable turned his corpulent face to Mrs. Dickerson and explained that her new seamstress was not at all who she claimed to be, but was in truth one Daisy O’Dell—a lowly servant girl, formerly in the employ of the Blyss estate. According to Agnes, Sarina, nay Daisy, had not only left her position without giving proper notification, but had also absconded with the Blyss family’s most valued possession!

The Constable pointed a stubby finger at the prized jewelry, and with no further warning, pounced. Sarina recoiled in horror but was unable to stop the vile man from yanking her treasure from her. Shocked and indignant, she clutched the empty spot where her necklace had been while the Constable leered at her trembling bosom.

He jammed the trinket into the pocket of his soiled trousers, admonished the girl not to give him any trouble, and propelled her out the door of the dress shop.

Sarina felt the man’s beefy paw grope her bottom, but despite such rough handling, she somehow found the strength to halt in the doorway and proclaim her innocence to her employer.

But Mrs. Dickerson only sputtered about how difficult it was to find honest help these days. She watched without protest as the Constable threw Sarina into the back of his cattle cart and drove away.