Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (17 page)

His face hawkish in its intensity, Clay moved closer to Alex. Although the two men were near the same height, Clay seemed more solid and muscular. His gray eyes were wintry. “Let me sum this up. The young man Brandon, who manages the reception area at the trauma hospital, met a woman online. She represented herself as a high school teacher and cheerleading coach. He was smitten with her. He found out she lied to him, and she strips for a living. He was angry and hurt. You both decided to confront her at the club. What if, when she fell off the stage, Brandon decided it was his chance to make her pay for what she’d done to him? And you, being his friend, covered up for him by keeping silent.”

His fists clenched in anger, Alex moved to the older man.

Marisa took Alex’s arm. The arm was tense beneath her fingers, and as unyielding as an oak log. To get his attention, she shook him.

He met her eyes, his face set and angry.

Marisa refused to back down. “Alex. Please let Mr. Napier finish.”

“Brandon melted into the crowd around her, fell to his knees as if to help her, and then he stabbed her. We all saw Brandon kneeling close to the body.”

Alex stepped close to Marisa, and stared very directly into her eyes. “Brandon didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t cover for a murderer.”

Marisa met his gaze just as directly. “I know you wouldn’t, Alex. You’re a pain in the ass, but not a liar or accessory to murder.”

Althea said, “Who’s that running down the hill?”

The figure jogging easily down the slope was dressed in a dark suit. His short blonde hair shone in the golden sunshine. In the country setting of trees and the duck pond, he looked out of place.

“It’s Dreamus!” Marisa clutched at Fred, who was nearest to her. “Oh, my God, there’s been another murder!”

As Dreamus jogged into the center of the group, he looked around at the expectant faces. “What?”

“Who else has gotten killed?” Marisa dived right in.

Dreamus smiled slightly. “I hate to disappoint you, but no one’s been killed since the murder early this morning here at the assisted living center. I was getting in my car when I noticed a gathering at the duck pond. What are you people up to now?”

“You’re just in time, young man,” exclaimed Clara happily. “The murder consortium is preparing to delve into the most recent murder.”

Dreamus’ face darkened in anger. “The what???”

Clara clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, we’re going to solve these murders for you! I’ve got my slay-dar turned up full-throttle!”

A vein popped out on Dreamus’ forehead. “It was bad enough when my police operation was disrupted four months ago by the arrival of civilians in cars and trucks. Then
that man
—” Dreamus stabbed an angry finger in Fred’s direction “—drove up in a city bus and spewed out enough people to populate a small city. And then a car load of exotic dancers, accompanying the wannabe paparazzi, proceeded to laugh and giggle all over my covert operation. And now, you people are trying to take over my crime scene—”

Dreamus interrupted his own rant. “Slay-dar?”

Clara giggled, sending her entire body into an impressive jiggle. “You’ve heard of radar, and gay-dar...my slay-dar is my internal sense of who could be a murderer. I’ll use it to pinpoint the murderer for you!”

Dreamus drew an outraged breath.

In an attempt to diffuse the imminent explosion, Marisa interjected. “Alex and I don’t know anything about the murder here, other than it happened this morning and Clara indicated she was the second person to find the body.”

“Marisa!” The urgent yell caused all heads to swivel to the slope.

Two figures walked toward them. One was a short woman, her generous curves covered by a sunny yellow halter top and matching shorts. The other was an elderly lady, stick thin in her neatly pressed pale lavender dress, carefully picking her way down the slope in her matching pale purple shoes. Recognizing the long, bobbing blonde curls of the younger female, Marisa trotted toward them. “Tara! What are you doing here?”

A fine sheen of perspiration highlighting her perfect, creamy face, Tara grasped Marisa’s hands. “Mrs. Kenton was kind enough to show me the way. Plus, she wanted to talk to Dreamus about the murders.”

“Lieutenant Camden!” The wrinkled little face hardened with determination. “I know you’re here to investigate the murder of the resident, but I wanted to talk to you about Mayla’s murder!” Her thin fingers curled into his shirt, and she shook him. “Are there any new leads?”

Marisa’s mouth fell open. “Mrs. Kenton? From the Home Away From Home Nursing Home?”

The fanatical gleam in Mrs. Kenton’s eyes replaced by surprise, she released the lawman. “Yes, I was there before I came here.”

Marisa stepped closer as she remembered the vacant old woman with a perpetual pool of urine under her wheelchair. “But-but-but you were in a wheelchair! You seemed—”

A slight smile curved her mouth, deepening the wrinkles around her lips. “That witch had me on medications to keep me confused and disoriented. Once I was off the medications, the fog lifted. There wasn’t anything really wrong with me.” She turned to Dreamus. “About Mayla—”

“Mrs. Kenton.” He gently turned her in the direction of the main building. “Please return to your room. I will come and see you before I leave.”

Tara’s sea green eyes were worried and her arched brows furrowed. “Who is Mayla? Has there been another murder?” She turned suddenly, and caught Mrs. Flaxton’s disapproving gaze on her cleavage.

Althea met Tara’s outraged eyes and shook her head. “Mayla Kenton was killed by an arsonist twenty years ago. Mrs. Kenton’s pain over the loss of her only child seems to have intensified over time, not faded.”

Dreamus shook his head, watching the old lady slowly retrace her steps up the slope. “I wish I could solve the murder for her. Not only to bring the killer to justice, but also perhaps some degree of peace to the poor woman. Speaking of bringing a killer to justice, I do have news about Caleb, the Knight of the Round Ladies.”

“Brianna killed him!”

“Marisa Adair! How did you know that?” The lawman narrowed his eyes. “Did someone at the police station tell you?”

“No one told me, I figured it out. Remember at the bar, Brianna said Caleb was dead because he joined Tara’s online group, and it was Tara’s fault. Brianna was telling us it was Tara’s fault Brianna had to kill him, because of the online group. In a roundabout way, Brianna confessed.”

Tara turned to Marisa and shook her head. “But Brianna was so upset over his death! She loved him!”

“Yes, Brianna really loved a player, a player who loved to service women he considered too unattractive to get sex anywhere else. He even had an online identity that spelled it out. Brianna was embarrassed and humiliated. In a rage, she killed him.”

“But, Marisa, she came to the bar that night to blame
me
for his death!”

“As the leader of the online group, you were to blame from Brianna’s twisted perspective. If he had not joined the group, she could have held on to her denial. Since she couldn’t ignore the truth, she killed him.”

Dreamus clapped his hands. “Very good, Marisa. Evidence at the crime scene confirms your theory.” He turned to Tara. “What are you doing here, Tara-byte, besides getting the scoop on your former group member’s murder?”

Marisa was mystified. “Yes, Tara, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t get you on your cell phone. I went by your house and saw your smashed up car in the driveway. Then I rushed over here, thinking Mrs. Flaxton would know where you were. What in heaven’s name happened to your car, Marisa?” Tara spied Alex, and sucked in a surprised breath. She choked. “Damn, I think I just swallowed a bug. What’s Alex doing here?”

Smiling slightly, Dreamus held up a hand. “As to Marisa’s smashed car, I would hazard a guess Alex and Marisa collided in her driveway.”

Marisa and Alex both turned to Dreamus in amazement. “How did you know?” they both said at the same time.

“I noticed a bit ago in the parking lot that Alex’s car has a streak of red paint on the front bumper. Marisa’s car is a red Miata convertible. I know Alex’s car did not have the streak of paint on it at the gym yesterday. Therefore, if Marisa’s car is newly smashed, it stands to reason Alex’s car was involved.”

“How did you know it was Alex’s car? Don’t tell me you keep license plate numbers filed away in your brain.” Marisa’s brows rose.

“Alex’s car sports a unique personalized license plate.”

Alex looked pained. “Now that we know how the lieutenant arrived at his deduction, let’s get back to—”

Marisa cocked her head. “I didn’t notice a personalized plate. What is it?”

Alex choked. “It’s not important—”

“Oh, wait, I noticed it because I parked next to the silver car,” Tara said brightly. “It was SPANK ME.”

Alex put his hands over his face.

Marisa laughed. She laughed so hard tears rolled down her face. “Alex’s personalized license plate is SPANK ME?”

Fred and Clay exchanged men of the world smiles.

Clara and Althea exchanged bewildered glances.

“Alex Caldwell!” Clara’s voice was the whip crack of authority that had kept schoolchildren in single file lines for fifty years. “What is the meaning of that license plate?” She pinned him in her glare.

Alex’s thin face reflected his desperation. His dark blue eyes rolled, seeking inspiration. “Well,” he said, obviously making it up as he went along, “I’ve always been a proponent of corporal punishment in school, so I decided—”

Clara thumped her cane on the ground. “The truth, young man!”

Fred was laughing so hard, he stuttered. “C-c-c-l-l-lara, let’s talk about it later—”

Alex waved his hands in resignation. “Let me just tell you, because I’m sure you’re all thinking something much worse than it is! I invested in an online business geared toward people who enjoy being tied up by their partners!”

Thoughtful, Clara leaned back on the bench. “What’s the web address? I’d like to see it for myself.”

“Clara!” Fred was profoundly shocked.

“I sold the business! I haven’t had a chance to go to vehicle registration and turn in that license plate for another one.”

As Marisa wiped her eyes, she caught Alex’s intent gaze. “I am not crying. These are laughing tears.”

Tara dusted her hands together. “Now that’s cleared up, let’s get on with the party.”

Marisa wondered if her friend was speaking a strange new language. “What party?”

“I ran into one of the nursing assistants. She said there was a lawn party down here.”

“Lawn party?” Marisa was aghast.

“Oh, yes. Several of the ladies dashed away to change clothes. Starla said she’d round up some refreshments from the kitchen. The other employee with the high beehive hairdo—” Tara held her hand a foot above her blonde curls.

“Flora May,” supplied Althea.

“Flora May was rounding up volunteers to help her carry down some folding tables and chairs.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to be overrun like a picnic is overrun by ants. We’d best hurry with our discussion before the crowd gathers.” In spite of the heat, Clay’s face was smooth and free of perspiration, and his neat summer weight suit looked freshly pressed. He turned to Dreamus. “Lieutenant, what about the police perspective on the young woman’s murder at the club? And then we can talk about the morning murder here at the center.”

Dreamus seemed resigned to his fate, since he didn’t fight the inevitable.

Or, Marisa speculated, he’d changed his mind because Tara was present. She was fairly certain something was brewing in that direction.

“When the dancer fell off the stage, she was probably stunned for a moment. The killer saw his or her chance, and quickly drove the knife in the dancer’s back. Due to the length of the blade, I think it probably pierced her heart, although the medical examiner has not yet finished her work. As the woman lay on the floor, confusion and chaos reigned. No one has admitted to seeing the dancer actually killed.”

“What about the murder weapon? Anything there?” Her face serene, Althea might have been asking a student the capital of South Dakota.

Dreamus bowed to her. “Yes, ma’am, the murder weapon. It’s a long, sharp knife, generally kept at the bar. The bartender used it to cut fruit for drinks. When we checked the handle, we found several fingerprints, all belonging to one person. A bartender by the name of Anton—”

Marisa interjected, “Oh, no, not Anton! He wouldn’t hurt a fly! Er, well, I mean—”

Dreamus continued as if Marisa had not spoken. “Anton Woods is tall, muscular, and an obsessive weight lifter. He’s bulky and he’s intimidating. He was one of the bartenders on duty last night at the club. He was formerly a bouncer, and he was recently promoted to bartender. He also had a history of friction with the dancer—”

“That was just a misunderstanding!” Marisa was desperate for him to understand. “Sarah liked to tell customers tall tales to get extra tips. Let’s say the car salesman convention was in town. She’d say it was her birthday. Sales and marketing people love to party and will grab any excuse. Or if the farm machinery show was in town, then she’d try for the heartstrings as the way to the men’s pockets. In that case, she would claim she had sick children who needed medical help. When Anton was new, he believed her. He actually tried to give her money for her fictitious children. Anton is tender hearted! He’s not a killer!” Marisa felt like shaking the police lieutenant.

“Sarah jeered at Anton. She turned his altruistic gesture into a huge joke. Everyone was laughing at Anton. What if he held onto that grudge, saw his chance to even the score, and stabbed the dancer to death?” Dreamus’ clear, light blue eyes drifted gently around the group.

“But Anton would have been on duty at the bar! He would have been nowhere near the dancer’s stage! Her stage was close to the back, while the bar Anton mans is up by the club’s front door. Anton has the perfect alibi!” Marisa was triumphant.

“Ah, but Anton was unfortunately on break when the girl was killed. He had sauntered toward the back of the room to chat with the bartender who takes care of the bar at the far end of the club. When we questioned him, Anton admitted he was actually quite close to the fallen dancer.”

Marisa clenched her fists. “He did not kill her!”

Dreamus smiled. With his face transformed from its habitual solemnity, he looked like a high school student dressed up in his father’s suit. “I think you’re right, Marisa. I don’t believe Anton would have hurt her or anyone else. We’re still going through the witnesses’ statements, and that’s all I have at the moment. Now, for the murder this morning, since you were early on the scene, Miss Clara, would you like to bring everyone up to date?”