Little Shop of Homicide (27 page)

“Right. You don’t want a scumbag like that getting off on a technicality.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as forlorn as I felt as I added, “So, you’ll be gone a while.”

“Not too long.” He shrugged. “A day of prep and a day or two at the trial. I should be home by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest.”

“Oh.” At least he had said he’d be home, implying Shadow Bend was where his heart was.

“While I’m there I’ll see if Meg’s had any luck finding out Joelle’s real identity.”

“Great.” Yeah. Just peachy. He was going to spend some quality time with his ex-wife. Even though I was confused about my feelings for Jake, there was one thing I
was
sure about. I didn’t want him alone with Meg. “While you’re gone, I’ll find out if Poppy ever talked to Cyndi Barrow.”

“Good. And if you get a chance, check out the housekeeper, too.” Jake opened the door and stepped outside. “We’ll tackle the mayor and Underwood together once I get back. I don’t want you interviewing them alone, since either one could be the killer.”

“I can understand that.” I recognized his concern, but I wasn’t making any promises. Not after Woods’s claim that he was close to arresting me. “Have a good trip.”

After Jake left, it took me a while to answer all Gran’s
questions. As I explained everything, I tried to dissuade her from the idea that Jake and I were an item, but that was a futile effort. She’d heard what she wanted to hear, and wasn’t willing to let me change her mind.

Finally, a little after noon, I got a chance to shower, dress, and call Poppy. She apologized, telling me she had never caught up with Cyndi, but asked if I could meet her at Brewfully Yours in a half hour. The Country Club Cougars would be there and we could talk to Cyndi together.

When I pulled up to the coffee shop, I was surprised to find the parking lot nearly full. A Sunday afternoon crowd was unusual, but the banner over the doorway announcing a tasting explained the café’s sudden popularity.

For twenty-five dollars, half of which went to the animal shelter south of town, thimble-size cups of coffee were passed around and folks pretended they could tell the difference between Folgers and some expensive-label beans. The real reason everyone was there was for the brownies and other pastries that were being served along with the coffee. Since the goodies were considered a palate cleanser, and the event was for charity, the women felt free to eat. Guilt-free calories are hard to come by.

Poppy met me at the door and we walked in together. She was right; the Cougars were out in force. We paid our money, slipped on the lime green wristbands that indicated we weren’t deadbeats, and headed toward the women.

It was clear who was who in the social hierarchy. Anya and Gwen were seated in two armchairs with their backs to the wall. Half a dozen women, those next in the pecking order, had arranged the café’s wooden chairs to face them. Among those I recognized was the petite blond Country Club Kitten who had been clinging to Noah at the shelter committee meeting.

A couple of wannabes, including Cyndi Barrow, sat in
the last row on metal folding chairs. Poppy and I took the two seats on either side of our quarry, bracketing Cyndi like hunters running down a wild boar.

I made the mistake of murmuring hello to Cyndi while Anya was speaking, and she and Gwen swung disapproving gazes in my direction. A calculating look settled on both women’s faces, and after a silent communication, Anya gave Gwen a slight nod.

Gwen homed in on me like a stealth missile. “I can’t believe my eyes,” she said. “Devereaux Sinclair—you never hang out with us. What brings you here today?”

“This wonderful cause, of course. What else?” I bared my teeth in a fake grin. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m a big animal lover.”

“And not just the four-footed variety.” Gwen’s smile was full of innuendo. “Word around town has it that you’ve been taking a walk on the wild side with Tony Del Vecchio’s hot nephew.”

I would have let that comment pass, because even annoying people can be informative, but Poppy said, “Maybe she has. But at least Dev’s not giving guided tours of the jungle like I’ve seen you doing at Gossip Central.”

Gwen sniffed, turned to Anya, and whispered furiously in her ear, all the while darting vicious looks at Poppy and me.

“Was that really necessary?” I hissed at my friend.

“Definitely.”

“You’re really good at making enemies, aren’t you?” She could be so exasperating.

“Yep.” Poppy smirked. “Which is why I’m divorced, unlisted, and own a gun.”

While the coffee samples were being served, I studied the beautiful vacant faces of the women who’d gathered there. They chatted among themselves as they sipped, but they quieted immediately when either Anya or Gwen spoke.

The event was winding down, and I was wondering how we would get Cyndi alone so we could question her,
when Poppy got up and wandered over to Gwen and Anya. She leaned close to them and spoke for several seconds in a voice too low for me to hear. I was thinking about moving nearer, but whatever Poppy was saying launched Anya and Gwen to their feet.

They swept the circle of women in front of them with twin glares, scooped up their Louis Vuitton bags, and marched out of the coffee shop. The rest of their entourage followed closely on the heels of their Prada peep-toe platform pumps.

When Cyndi tried to join the others, I put a hand on her arm. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you about Blood, Sweat, and Shears.”

“Sure.” Cyndi’s smile was tenuous as she sank back into her seat. “Is there a problem with the group? You’re not kicking us out of the dime store, are you?”

“Of course not. Your group does such wonderful work for charity.” I patted her knee. “I just wanted your opinion.”

“On what?”

“Uh…” I thought fast. “What kind of serger to buy for the store.”

“I think the best brand is Brother, though some people like Singer.” I could tell from Cyndi’s voice that she wasn’t expecting anyone to give much credence to her suggestion. “You really should check with Winnie.”

“Thanks.” I looked at Poppy as she rejoined us, indicating she should take over. “I’ll do that.”

“So what do you think got Anya and Gwen in such a tizzy?” Poppy asked. “I was trying to apologize to Gwen for the snarky remark I made earlier and all of a sudden they both ran out of here like I had shot them.”

“They don’t really forgive and forget very easily.” Cyndi’s brow furrowed. “She and Joelle and Gwen always said forgiveness is for priests and losers.”

“Wow!” Poppy’s angelic face shone with false innocence. “That’s way harsh.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Cyndi leaned forward, closing in on her point. “I thought they might have been kidding when they first said it, but they really meant it. You don’t want to make a mistake around them.”

“Were there women in your group that they wouldn’t forgive?” I asked. “Maybe someone who became angry enough to kill Joelle?”

“No.” Cyndi chewed a thumbnail. “No one ever dared cross them.”

“Were Anya and Gwen jealous when Joelle snagged Shadow Bend’s most eligible bachelor?” I asked, forcing a giggle.

“Oh, yeah.” Cyndi giggled with me. “You could see they were hopping mad, though mostly they pretended not to be. At least they pretended when Joelle was around.”

“What did they do behind her back?” Poppy asked.

“For a while they were hell-bent on finding some dirt on Joelle to show Noah’s mother.” Cyndi shook her head. “But they must not have ever found anything, since Joelle and Noah were still engaged when she died.”

Poppy had to get back to her bar by three, but before she left, we sat in my car chatting. First, she told me what she’d really said to Gwen and Anya to make them so angry: that if they didn’t pay their bar tab by the end of the week, they’d be cut off. For the next half hour, I updated Poppy on Woods’s visit and what Jake and I had discovered on our visit to the hotel. After that, I spent the rest of the time fending off her interest in my love life.

Finally, Poppy had to leave. As she got out of the Z4, she said, “Those Cougars need to be taught a lesson. They think life is just a bowl of cherries. What they don’t realize is that life is really a can of hot peppers. And what you devour one day will scorch your ass the next.”

I nodded my agreement, and with a promise to keep her informed, I drove away.

That morning, Gran had told me that Joelle’s housekeeper was Irene Johnson and that she lived a few miles north of town. When Gran had described the property and given me directions, I’d known exactly where she meant because Irene’s place had always reminded me of a dollhouse. It was painted a delicate butter yellow with sage green trim and a white porch. It was tiny, but every detail was perfect.

It took only a few minutes to reach my destination. After parking my car on a concrete apron beside an immaculately maintained older-model dark blue Taurus, I made my way to the front door. I could hear Billy Ray Cyrus singing about his achy breaky heart, but there was no response when I rang the bell.

Hmm.
Maybe Irene couldn’t hear me over the music. I tried several more times with the same result, then followed the sidewalk around to the back door. I cupped my hand and peered through the window. Mr. Coffee’s ON button glowed red and a big pot of something was cooking on the stove, so Irene had to be home.

I tapped my knuckles against the wood, then knocked harder. A second or two later, Irene hurried into the kitchen. She was a tall, solidly built woman, and she leaned against the doorframe before she asked, “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Johnson, my name is Devereaux Sinclair. I’m Birdie Sinclair’s granddaughter.” Everyone knew Gran. “She told me where you lived.”

“Oh, sure.” Irene opened the door. “You bought the old dime store. Everyone in town was so relieved that a local took it over and that you kept it like it always had been. We all just love that store.”

“Thank you. I love it, too.” I flashed a big smile. “If I’m not interrupting anything, Ms. Johnson, could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure, and call me Irene.” She motioned me inside. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then I said, “I understand you worked for Joelle Ayers before she died.”

“Yes.” Irene’s expression was puzzled. “She was one of the ladies I did for.”

How to explain why I was asking questions? “Even though I didn’t know her very well, I was devastated to hear she had been killed with the contents of a gift basket I put together for her.”

“That must have been awful for you.” Irene patted my arm. “But you really can’t blame yourself. Once your baskets are out of your hands, you have no control over what someone does with them.”

“I’m trying to remember that.” Too bad Woods didn’t feel that way. “Gran suggested that maybe if I knew more about Joelle, it might help me come to terms with what happened to her.” Okay, that was lame, but at the moment it was the best I could do.

“Sure.” Irene didn’t look completely convinced by my explanation, but she was clearly too polite to say how crazy the idea seemed.

“Would you be willing to tell me a little about Joelle?” I asked.

“Well…” Irene got up, opened the refrigerator, stared inside, then closed it, chuckling. “Why do I constantly go back to the fridge? Do I truly think something new to eat will have materialized since the last time I looked?” When I didn’t answer, she nudged the refrigerator door closed with her rear end. “Ms. Ayers was a real private person.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Irene stood with her hands on her hips. “One time when I was cleaning, I wiped down her computer monitor, and she carried on like I had read her diary and published it on the front page of the paper.”

“That must have been awkward,” I said sympathetically. “What was on the screen that was so top secret?”

“Just some e-mail from a guy named Etienne.” Irene moved over to the stove and stirred the contents of the pot, sending up an enticing aroma of homemade vegetable soup that made my stomach growl. “That’s French for ‘Steve,’ right?”

Nodding, I asked, “Did you notice his last name?” I held my breath. “Or his e-mail address?” Was Etienne someone from Joelle’s past? Could this be a clue to her identity?

“Can’t say as I did.”

“Did anything else odd happen during the time you worked for her?”

“The last time I was there cleaning, Ms. Ayers got a call that really upset her. She took it in the bedroom with the door closed, so I didn’t hear anything, but she was meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes for the rest of the day.”

“So Joelle liked her privacy,” I said casually, watching Irene closely. “Was she secretive with her girlfriends too? I understand she had a lot of them.”

“As far as I could tell, she hardly ever had anyone over to her condo. But one time when I was there, a lady friend of hers dropped by and she wouldn’t let her in.”

“Who was that?” After what Cyndi had said, I was betting on Anya or Gwen.

“I never saw her.” Irene shrugged. “All I heard was her voice on the intercom and she and Ms. Ayers arguing about her coming up.”

“I wonder why she allowed you in her condo, but not her friends.”

“Cleaning ladies aren’t a threat.” Irene shook her head. “And believe you me, she kept a close eye on my every move. I was never there alone.”

“Anything else you can think of that would make Joelle more real in my mind?”

“She was pretty and liked pretty things.” Irene paused, then added, “And she got lots of magazines about rich people.”

“Interesting.”

Irene looked at me expectantly, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so I excused myself to use the bathroom. She pointed me down the hall, and on my way I peeked into the living room.

There were several items that didn’t seem to go with Irene’s appearance or her lifestyle. A silver tray with crystal goblets and a decanter, a cut-glass ashtray, and an ivory-handled letter opener looked particularly out of place next to the framed paint-by-number picture hanging over the TV and the bright aqua fish-shaped platter displayed on a side table next to a china dog.