Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé (5 page)

Judy's Bar and Grill was technically situated outside of the town limits. Located on top of a hill, the bar didn't look like much from the outside. Just another run-of-the-mill, weather-beaten barn, really. But the inside had been completely revamped with colored lights, a gleaming dance floor, and a horseshoe-shaped bar that served the best cocktails this side of Miami Beach, at half the price. When the owner, Judy DuBois, had bought the place a few years back, no one had thought she could make such a modern hot spot a stone's throw from Beaverton, but she'd proven them all wrong. I'd been to the bar a few times and really liked the Cajun woman, both because she was a successful businesswoman and because much like me, the citizens of our small southern town didn't know what to make of her.

"Oh crap," I groused when I spotted the red convertible in the parking lot. It stood out among the dusty pickups and battered sedans driven by the rest of the bar's patrons. And the vanity plate reading
Hotstuf
demolished any hope I had that it belonged to someone other than Lacey L'Amour. "How did she hear about this place already?"

"She must be plugged in to the town gossip. I know she's all buddy-buddy with Mayor Randal. The two of them were seated together at the chamber of commerce meeting."

Donna had been striding for the door, but I pulled her to a quick stop. "Lacey was at the chamber of commerce meeting? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did," Donna pointed out. "She's a new businesswoman after all. Of course she'd be at the meeting. And I didn't know you knew her until just now. What gives?"

"We have an ugly history. She was sleeping with some of the instructors, both male and female, when we were in school together. She never could cook worth spit, so I don't know why she got into the program to begin with. But everyone knew how she always scored top grades. She's all flash and little substance."

Donna whistled low. "Damn, no wonder you're so bitter about her being here."

That wasn't all of it, but I didn't feel like hashing it all out. "Ancient history, but I'd like to steer clear of her, if at all possible."

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Seeking out the spotlight was Lacey's forte, and it didn't surprise me to see the French tart up on stage belting out The Divinyls "I Touch Myself." Of course the male population was riveted to her classless performance.

"What'll it be, yous?" Judy, as always, was dressed impeccably in a long-sleeved black dress and a brightly patterned scarf wrapped around her slim waist as a belt. Her perfect white teeth flashed against her flawless ebony skin and ruby-painted lips. Her gold jewelry caught the light as she moved gracefully from table to table. When she reached for an empty glass, I noticed she had little white bird silhouettes painted on her long purple-polished nails.

When Donna had first mentioned coming here, I'd been leaning to the more feminine drinks, something mixed with fruit juice or chocolate and topped with whipped cream, more dessert than drink. My gaze slid to Lacey, and my mouth uttered, "Tequila shooters."

Judy raised an elegant eyebrow as she expertly cut a lemon into wedges. "Rough day, no?"

"And it's not over yet." I nodded and then licked the back of my hand and poured salt on it.

She served me the first drink, and I saluted her with the shot glass. I tipped the glass back and drained it dry.

Dollar shots meant it wasn't the best tequila in the world, but it would take my mind off my multitude of troubles. I winced as I sucked on a lemon wedge.

"I've got the tab." Donna opted for a Barbie shot, which looked like a Creamsicle in a glass.

"No, I can pay my own way." I patted my pockets, checking for cash.

She insisted. "Since I dragged you out tonight."

It was probably a good thing to remember that I was still young and shouldn't be tucked away at five every evening. I wondered if Jones missed me yet. Or if he even remembered I'd left.

"I really liked that little house," I confessed two shots later.

"But?" Donna quirked an eyebrow.

"No buts. It was perfect." I turned my fourth shot glass upside down on the tray Judy provided. "Lizzy's house is perfect too."

"Except that it's
Lizzy's
house," Donna murmured.

"Exactly." I blinked at her. "No one understands me like you do, you know?"

"If you tell me you love me, I'm going to cut your inebriated hide off."

I giggled at her word choice. "You're funny."

She just rolled her eyes.

Since Donna didn't seem interested in my newfound insight, I swiveled in my chair to survey the rest of the room. Lacey's song had ended, and someone new had taken her place onstage, singing some god-awful auto-tuned piece of garbage. I scanned the room and spotted my nemesis seated at a nearby table, surrounded by men.

Including my man.

"Is that Jones?" Donna asked. "What the hell is he doing with the French tart?"

Good damn question.

Lacey laughed and flirted as though she didn't have a care in the world, until her eyes met mine. Then a smug satisfaction slid over her congenial mask. Jones hadn't spotted me yet, the rat.

"So let me get this straight. He can't leave the damn darkroom to talk to me, yet here he is hanging out with my bitter rival. Does that seem right to you?" I was impressed with how calmly I was taking this.

"There has to be an explanation for this," Donna said a minute too late.

I slid off my stool and made for my mark like a trollop-seeking missile.

"Andy?" Donna sounded panicked. "Where are you going?"

But my target was locked. Lacey's phony smile slid back into place as I approached.

"Andrea?" Jones looked up and caught sight of me. To his credit, he didn't appear guilty of doing anything more than talking to Lacey. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? This is my town. I live here. The better question is, what is she doing here, with you?" I didn't sound drunk, just belligerent. Good, Lacey needed to understand that I wasn't going to go down without a fight.

She dipped her chin and fluttered her eyelashes for her bevy of admirers. "It's a free country, is it, no?"

"No, I mean yes, it is. But that's not my question. Why are you here, in Beaverton?"

"Settle down, Little Bit," Rudy Flannigan grumbled. He was one of Kyle's high school chums. "No need to go gettin' your bloomers in a bunch."

I narrowed my eyes at the hated high school nickname, which always came out sounding like the guys called me "Little Shit." "Mind your own business, Rudy, before I go call your wife and tell her you're out drinking and carousing. Where does she think you are right now anyhow? Working late at the office?" The last part I tagged on for my boyfriend's benefit.

A chair scraped along the floor as Jones got to his feet. "Andrea, let's talk about this outside." He reached for me, but I stepped back, stumbling on an uneven floorboard.

"I am in the middle of a conversation, Malcolm."

Lacey rolled her eyes. "Come now, Andee. Let's, how you say, bury the ax?"

"It's
hatchet,
" Winston Marsh corrected helpfully. He had the worst case of halitosis I'd ever encountered, and Lacey actually coughed as he breathed on her.

"Maybe we should go." Donna tugged at my other elbow, trying to pry me away from the gathering throng.

"There's no hatchet. I just want to know what you're doing here in my hometown." Jerking my arm out of Donna's grip, I leaned down to get in Lacey's face. I guess I didn't know my own strength though, because Donna stumbled and would have gone down, except she fell against the back of a nearby patron. He, in turn, dropped his drink over the head of the man sitting behind Lacey, who came up swinging.

Directly at Jones.

"Fight!" Someone yelled a second before the free-for-all started. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor. The sound of angry shouts and breaking glass drowned out the guy singing "Why Don't We Get Drunk" (and screw).

"See what you've done!" Lacey shoved me. "You must always cause trouble."

"Me?" Righteous indignation made me shove her back.

She made a grab for my hair, but I was scrappy, and I ducked out of her hold and sank my shoulder into her stomach. She let out a satisfying
oof
but managed to grab hold of my shirt. It ripped. I staggered, and we went down in a tangle of flailing limbs.

A sudden report from a shotgun overpowered the noise. Judy was on the bar, the double barrels of a sawed-off pointed at the hole in the roof above my head. Anger flashed in her eyes, and the emotion was directed at me. "Take your bad juju up out of my place, yous. Before I call da law."

"Too late!" another male voice called and was drowned out by wailing sirens. "Five-o."

The bar patrons scattered like roaches.

I scanned the remaining faces but saw no sight of Jones. "Malcolm?" I called out.

Lacey scrambled away from me, her hair wild, dress rumpled, eyes ablaze. "You are completely insane!" she panted.

The sheriff strode in, followed by half a dozen deputies.

"What happened?" Kyle was at my side, helping me to my feet.

I didn't answer him, too busy looking at the destruction around me. "Donna? Where are you?"

"Here," she rasped. She'd crawled under a nearby table to keep out of the fray. Her blue eyes were round, but she appeared unhurt.

"You okay?" I asked to makes sure. "Have you seen Jones?"

"I'll live," she muttered.

"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" Kyle yelled.

"She attacked me!" Lacey wailed. The running mascara added to her victim's air.

I lifted my chin in defiance. "What a crock! You shoved me, remember?"

Kyle turned to Judy. "You want to press charges?"

Judy's eyes narrowed, but she shook her head. "No, as long as they agree to pay for the damages."

I nodded, but Lacey wasn't satisfied with that. Thrusting a finger at me, she spat, "She assaulted me! You must arrest her!"

Kyle put his hands on his hips, his expression grim. "I'm taking you both in for disturbing the peace. Maybe some time in jail will cool those hot heads."

He couldn't be serious. "Kyle, you know I wouldn't have just gone off and hit her." Even if she'd deserved it. I'd only been defending myself and staking my claim on Jones. Wasn't my fault if I was better at it than Lacey.

He moved in closer and lowered his voice. "What I know is that you smell like a distillery and were caught up in a bar brawl. You need time to dry out. Now come along peaceably so I don't have to arrest you. I don't want word of this getting back to your grandfather. Or to Kaylee's mom."

My shoulders slumped as the alcohol-induced fog lifted. He was right. By morning the entire town would hear that Andy Buckland had been drinking and mixing it up at Judy's. It would be bad for my reputation both professionally and on a personal level if there was an official arrest to boot. With his hand wrapped around my arm, Kyle led me out of the bar, Donna trailing in our wake.

"Donna, I'm going to call your husband to come pick you up," Kyle said. "If you've been drinking, don't get behind the wheel."

"I won't," Donna was quick to reassure him. "Andy, do you want me to call your grandfather?"

"No." I sucked in a deep lungful of frosty night air to help clear my head. "But next time when I say I don't want to go out, do me a favor and listen."

*   *   *

The drunk tank at the county jail smelled of urine and bile and other foul odors I didn't want to think about. I sat with my back to the wall, drew my knees up, and rested my head in my hands. Noises echoed off the painted cinderblock walls. Somewhere out front a television blared a late-night infomercial at ear-splitting decibels. Someone was snoring like a bear with a head cold in the next cell over. Someone on the other end of the hall was crying. The dull murmur of sober voices and the angry shouts of the inebriated all echoed in a depressing cacophony. The florescent lights overhead hummed and made my eyes hurt. I lowered my lids and tried not to feel too sorry for myself.

On the plus side, at least Lacey wasn't anywhere in sight. Either someone had bailed her out or Kyle had been wise enough to keep the two of us apart. What was it about her that got under my skin and gave me a rash?

Time dragged by like a hunter towing a ten-point buck, but eventually footsteps came down the hall. I shielded my eyes and looked up. "Aw, crap."

"Lovely seeing you too, Andrea." Jones's expression gave nothing away. "Although I must say you've looked better."

"Where the hell did you go?"

"He was there?" Kyle had come up behind him.

Frigging fantastic. They already had me at a disadvantage, what with my being incarcerated and all, but I didn't want Jones literally looking down on me while he was figuratively looking down on me. I rose, and the room spun slightly. Damn it, I didn't think I was still drunk, but then my stomach rolled as though it had gone out to sea without me.