Sucker Punch (17 page)

“Richie.” Wyatt scratched at the stubble on his chin and I could see him trying to place the name.

“He’s one of the owners of the Silver River Inn.”

Elizabeth brightened. “That cute bed-and-breakfast on Silver River Road? I’ve always wanted to stay there. I think it would be so romantic.”

Wyatt’s reaction was far different, but predictable. “He one of those funny fellas?” See what I mean? A card-carrying member of the I’m-a-Bigot club, otherwise known as the Loyal Order of the Caribou.

“If you’re asking whether he’s gay, yes, he is. But that doesn’t make him a killer.”

Wyatt held up both hands and laughed uneasily. “Hey, I never said it did. Just be careful, Abby. There are some people in this town who aren’t real open-minded.”

I’d been ready to argue with him, but now I clamped my mouth shut in surprise. It just goes to show, you never can tell about a person. Just when you think you know somebody, they do or say something completely unexpected.

“Thanks,” I said when I’d had a chance to regroup. “Is Nate one of them?”

“He’s not the worst,” Wyatt said, “but it wouldn’t break his heart to lock one of ’em away for a few years.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I have to make sure he doesn’t get the chance.”

Elizabeth added another folded T-shirt to the stack. “Have you thought about going over Nate’s head? There must be someone who could keep an eye on him and make sure the investigation is conducted the right way.”

“Sure,” Wyatt said with a shrug. “But you’ll have to go over more than one head to find that guy. Abby has to do business in this town. Best not to make too many waves if there’s another way around the problem.”

I polished off my Coke and carried my glass to the sink, but the conversation had left me feeling strange, as if I’d been transported back in time a couple of decades or something. Who would have thought that we’d still be tiptoeing around stupid people in the twenty-first century?

I didn’t get the chance to talk to anyone about Laurence Nichols or the attack on Vonetta the next day, but I knew that things were heating up by the number of white SUVs equipped with remote television equipment I saw through my shop window. The news was out.

When I got a few minutes in the afternoon, I called Richie to see how things were going. Two more guests had checked out early, and they’d suffered a rash of cancelled reservations. If things didn’t turn around soon, they’d be in serious trouble.

Before hanging up, I warned Richie not to give any interviews. The temptation to set the record straight would be almost overwhelming for a guy like Richie, but there were too many things the press could twist into something ugly. I didn’t want that for Richie and Dylan. Besides, as far as I knew, the police still hadn’t officially labeled Laurence’s death as a murder. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure that Richie could talk about it as an accident. Best not to say anything.

At seven, I locked up, swung past Jawarski’s to take in his mail, and headed for the theater. I hadn’t seen Vonetta since the paramedics spirited her away, and I wanted to make sure she was really all right. And, okay, I had an ulterior motive for my visit. Whether Laurence’s death was an accident or not, someone had attacked Vonetta. The only thing I knew for sure was that “someone” wasn’t me.

There had been at least three other people in the building that day, and I hoped one of them had seen or heard something that might help me figure out who was responsible for the attack. Of course, there was a good chance that one of them
was
responsible for the attack. I couldn’t lose sight of that, either. I didn’t suspect Paisley, but both Jason and Alexander had seemed genuinely shocked to find Vonetta lying on the floor. But if the attacker wasn’t one of them, who was it?

As I opened the door into the lobby, piano music floated up from the rehearsal hall and I breathed a sigh of relief. Bad things had been happening, but usually when no one else was around.

I poked my nose into Vonetta’s office and found Paisley fussing over her and Vonetta grousing about the unnecessary attention. After asking a few harmless questions to make sure she really was fine, I trotted down to the rehearsal hall to see who was there.

Jason Dahl sat at the baby grand piano, his expression almost dreamy as his fingers moved over the keys. He played well enough, but he was no Laurence Nichols. On the other side of the room, Alexander Pastorelli sat across a small table from Geoffrey Manwaring. Both men looked tense, maybe even a little angry, and my curiosity shifted into high gear.

Thanking my lucky stars for a shot at all three of them at once, I sat in a chair close enough to pick up their conversation if they didn’t whisper, and pretended to be fascinated by Jason’s music. Unfortunately, I was too far away to pick up more than a word or two. So much for the indirect method.

Jason finished the song he was playing and looked up with a sheepish smile.

Abandoning my efforts at clandestine listening, I left my chair and walked toward the piano, clapping politely. “That was very good. I didn’t know you could play.”

“I do. A little.” He stood quickly and pulled the cover over the keys. “My mom made me and my sister take lessons when we were kids.”

“Well, it obviously paid off. But if you don’t mind me asking, why are you working as a stagehand instead of putting your talent to good use?”

A flush stained Jason’s cheeks. “It’s not easy to get a foot in the door,” he said with a shy smile. “I’m hoping that if I hang around long enough somebody will give me a chance.”

“I’m sure they will. If you have a minute, I wanted to ask you some questions about what happened the other day.”

Jason eyed me warily, but he nodded. “Okay, I guess. What do you want to know?”

Our conversation caught Alexander’s attention. He looked away from Geoffrey with a scowl. “The kid and I already told the police everything we know.”

“So did I,” I told him, “but I keep thinking there must be something else. Something one of us heard or saw that we didn’t think was important at the time.”

“The only thing
I
saw was you, leaning over Vonetta just the same way you were hunched over Laurence the day he died.”

“Yeah,” I snarled. “Just remember, appearances can be deceiving. How is Laurence’s family handling all of this? They must be devastated.”

Alexander glanced at Geoffrey in confusion. “Family?”

“I assume he had family somewhere,” I said.

Geoffrey crossed his legs with an air of exaggerated patience. “Well, you’d be assuming wrong, then. There’s no wife. No kids. He was an only child, and his parents are both dead. Have been for ten years or more.”

“Was he seeing anyone?”

“Laurence was always seeing someone. Usually several someones.”

“Any particular someones he left behind?”

Geoffrey regarded me through beady eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What business is it of yours?”

“A friend of mine is under suspicion. I’m trying to help him out.”

“Who are we talking about? The one who tried to put the moves on Laurence?”

“For the record, Richie did not try to put the moves on Laurence,” I snapped.

Geoffrey smirked. “Says you. I know what I know, and what I know is, your pal Richie was practically stalking Laurence.”

“Richie can be a bit overly enthusiastic,” I admitted, “but he wasn’t
stalking
anyone.”

“Cut the kid some slack, Geoff,” Alexander said. “He was a fan, that’s all.”

“That’s not what Laurence told me,” Manwaring argued.

Alexander barked a laugh. “Yeah, and Laurence was
always
such a truthful son of a bitch. Hell, Geoff, you worked for him for how many years? You ought to know better than anyone else that every word out of his mouth was a damn lie.”

This was getting interesting. I motioned for Jason to remain quiet and clamped my own mouth shut so I could see where they would go from here.

Apparently forgetting about me, Geoffrey turned his beady eyes on Alexander. “The man’s dead, Alex. Let it go.”

“Let it
go
? He practically ruined me in Seattle. How am I supposed to let go of that?”

“It’s over now, that’s how.”

“It’ll be over when I get back every penny that son of a bitch took from me.”

Geoffrey shot to his feet so fast his chair teetered on two legs, then crashed to the floor with a bang. “He didn’t
take
anything from you. You made a bad investment. It happens. Quit blaming Laurence for your own stupidity.”

Alexander lunged out of his chair and took a swing, but Geoffrey was too quick for him. Before any of us saw it coming, Manwaring had pinned the older man’s arms behind his back. “If you ever take a swing at me again,” he growled, “it will be the last thing you ever do.” Shoving Alexander into the table, he strode from the room.

I thought about going after him, but the threat he’d just made against Alexander kept my feet glued to the floor. It might have just been big talk, but I wasn’t in the mood to find out.

Red-faced and obviously furious, Alexander regained his balance. I knew he was embarrassed at having been overpowered in front of Jason and me, but I couldn’t just pretend I hadn’t noticed.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He nodded and shot a withering glare at the door Geoffrey had disappeared through. “I’m fine. But if you’re still trying to figure out who wanted Laurence out of the way, why don’t you ask
him
about the money in Laurence’s estate.”

“What about it?”

“He just told you Laurence died without any family. I’ll give you three guesses who gets the money now.”

Jason pulled his gaze away from the door. “Mr. Manwaring?”

“Bingo. Give the kid a gold star.”

“And he owes some of it to you?” I asked.

“He owes at least half of it to me.” Alexander brushed dirt from his sleeves and hitched his pants. He grabbed a thick file folder from the table and started toward his office. “Ask him to tell you about our production of
Cabaret
in Seattle sometime. And then throw out 75 percent of what he tells you as total bullshit.”

With that parting shot, he disappeared, leaving Jason and me alone. “Well,” I said with an uneasy laugh, “I think that went well. Are you sure you want to get into this life? Maybe you should cut your losses and find a nice, safe job at Home Depot.”

Jason grinned. “Maybe. What do you think that was all about?”

I shook my head and replayed the last bit of the argument we’d just witnessed. “Gee, I could be wrong, but I don’t think there’s any love lost between those two. I’d really like to know what happened in Seattle, and why Alexander blames Laurence for it.”

“I don’t think you’re going to get a straight story out of either one of them,” Jason said.

“Neither do I, but there must be someone who knows what happened.”

“I guess you’re right.” Jason started to follow Alexander from the room.

“Jason, wait.”

He turned back uncertainly. “Yeah?”

“The day Laurence died, you seemed really concerned about Colleen Brannigan. Would you mind telling me why?”

“Well, because she . . . uh . . . she just seemed upset.”

“Not because you thought she had a relationship with Laurence?”

His cheeks burned red. “You heard what she said. They were friends.”

“But you thought they were more than that, didn’t you? Why?”

“I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I
did
think that, but I was wrong.”

“Maybe. How well do you know Colleen?”

Jason hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans. “Pretty well, I guess. Why?”

“Have you ever met her husband?”

The kid snorted a laugh. “Yeah. He hangs around her all the time. The day Laurence told her to get rid of him, I thought he was going to lose it, y’know?”

That was news to me. “When did Laurence tell her to do that?”

Jason shook his head as if he was having trouble remembering. “The day before he died maybe? Or the day before that. I’m not sure.”

“But you do remember Doyle’s reaction. What did he do?”

Jason met my gaze slowly. “I probably shouldn’t say anything. I’m sure it looked worse than it was.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “It was a couple of hours later. I was getting some stuff out of the scenery shop and I heard the two of them arguing. Mr. Brannigan was saying all this stuff about Laurence and Colleen, and Laurence was laughing. But not a nice laugh. It was like, ‘Yeah? What are you going to do about it?’ ”

Now we were getting somewhere. “And how did Mr. Brannigan take that?”

“Not well. He got really mad and told Laurence to leave Colleen alone or . . . or it would be the last thing he ever did.”