Sucker Punch (23 page)

“What about the back way? Could he have gone out without anyone knowing?”

Uncle Whit sucked something from a tooth and looked toward the back of the bar. “You looked out the back way lately?”

“Not lately.”

“Nobody’s goin’ out that way, girl. It’s been blocked for the past two years.” Concern flashed through his eyes, and he dropped his voice and leaned closer. “Just don’t tell nobody. The fire marshal would shut this place down in a heartbeat if word was to get out.”

“This place hasn’t inspected in that long?”

Whit lifted one burly shoulder. “Sure it’s been inspected.” He winked, as if to say I knew how things worked, and I guess I did. Junior Evans, the bar’s owner, was a loyal member of the Caribou and so was the fire marshal. Everyone knows the Caribou take care of their own.

“There’s no other way out of here?”

“Not that I know about.” Uncle Whit took another pull on his beer. “You can’t seriously think Doyle killed that fella.”

“I seriously think he’s one of half a dozen people who might have,” I said with a rueful grin. “All I know is that Richie Bellieu is innocent, so if it wasn’t Richie, and it wasn’t Doyle, who was it?”

Whit crushed out his second cigarette and plucked a stray bit of tobacco from his tongue. “Who’s gonna get something now that the man’s dead?”

“His manager. He’s already circling like a vulture over Laurence’s estate.” I drummed my fingers on the bar while I gave that question some more thought. “Doyle gets his wife back.”

Whit shook his grizzled head again. “Couldn’t ’a been him, sweetheart. I told ya, he was here all night.”

“Alexander Pastorelli wins their long-standing rivalry, and he’s pretty bitter about something he invested in that he blames Laurence for. I don’t know if that would be enough to drive him to murder, but Alexander
is
the last man standing.”

“How about women?” Uncle Whit asked. “Lord love ’em, they’re usually at the root of a man’s sorrows.”

I mentally cataloged Vonetta, Serena, and Colleen. “Could be,” I said around another mouthful of slush. “Somebody he screwed over in the past?”

Uncle Whit nodded. “Or an ex-girlfriend who didn’t like the way things ended? Anybody like that hanging around?”

“Yeah, probably. Laurence Nichols wasn’t a very nice person.” I propped my chin in my hands. “I’ve found lots of people who hated him, even people who had pretty good reasons for wanting him out of the way. But I still don’t see how someone could have committed murder by cutting the safety cable on that spotlight—unless the murderer is the luckiest person on the face of the earth.”

“Maybe it wasn’t murder.”

“Then why attack Vonetta? And if Vonetta does know something she shouldn’t, why hasn’t whoever it was attacked again? Nothing about this makes any sense.”

Uncle Whit put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Cheer up, pumpkin. Somebody out there knows what you’re looking for, and one of these days they’ll talk.”

Maybe so, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. Even if Uncle Whit
was
right, would the truth come out soon enough to help Richie?

Buoyed by the margarita and time spent with Uncle Whit, I hurried back to Divinity. I spent the rest of that evening and all the next day restocking the rapidly dwindling display of Valentine’s Day candy bouquets. I filled half a dozen vases with chocolate roses or heart-shaped lollipops, added silk greenery and baby’s breath, and arranged the vases on the display case just inside the front door. When I’d finished with those, I dragged a dozen baskets from the supply cupboard and filled each with homemade fudge, brittle, cherry divinity, and other assorted candies.

Though the death of Laurence Nichols was always rolling around inside my head, I forced myself to stay at Divinity. There would be time later to ask Richie about Jason’s claim that he’d threatened to kill Laurence.

Elizabeth and the girls showed up promptly at ten Saturday morning, and I put them to work making sure that Karen and Liberty had everything they needed. The shop was crowded with six of us working, but we managed to stay out of each others’ way for the most part.

Karen organized the others into an assembly line of sorts, while I gathered a hodgepodge of the most popular candy bars we stocked and arranged them in baskets, wagons, bowls, hat boxes, and teacups. When the clock finally crept around to seven, I’d scrunched so much ribbon into decorative bows, my hands were cramped and aching. It took almost an hour to serve the customers who were still browsing, but at last Liberty flipped over the sign on the door to Closed, and I gave myself permission to knock off for the evening.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Max and I headed out for his evening walk. Now that the workday was behind me, I found myself at loose ends. I hadn’t heard from Jawarski since the conversation that had ended badly, and every day my mood grew a little worse. He and I had spent so much time together, I’d almost forgotten how to get through a Saturday night on my own.

He was due back in a few days, and I still didn’t know how to react when he got here. Did I love him? I felt almost obligated to tell him that I did, but what if I didn’t mean it?

Did I trust him? Was I ready to make a commitment, or was it still too great a risk? My head hurt just thinking about it.

I’d been planning to grab some takeout and eat in my apartment, but the realization that I’d become so accustomed to having Jawarski around changed my mind. The weather had stayed relatively warm all day, and as I pondered my options a few lazy flakes of snow drifted toward the ground. They melted as soon as they touched the ground, but it wouldn’t be long before the temperature dropped and they began to stick.

I’d dressed warmly, and my boots could handle the snow, but I didn’t want to leave Max out in the weather for long. He’s too spoiled for that. I decided on the Lotus Blossum, a restaurant that serves Thai and Vietnamese cuisine. Critics give it high marks, but it’s still casual enough for jeans and my favorite Denver Nuggets sweatshirt. The jewelry store next door was closed, so I settled Max in its recessed doorway for shelter from the storm and stepped inside the restaurant where the rich scents of garlic, curry, and chili wrapped themselves around me. I inhaled greedily and congratulated myself on making a brilliant choice.

I’ve eaten there enough to know a few of the waitstaff by name. Dak-Ho led me to a small table near the front window, where I could see if Max needed me. Dak’s Korean, not Thai
or
Vietnamese, but nobody’s keeping track. We spent a few seconds on small talk while I ordered an egg roll, sautéed lemon grass and chili chicken, and my favorite, Thai tea.

Dak hurried off with my order, and I took stock of my surroundings for the first time. Most of the other diners were couples, either dining alone or with friends. A few months ago, I’d have shrugged off the flicker of discomfort at being alone in a crowd. Tonight, it bothered me.

In the months after my divorce, I’d worked hard to stop feeling uncomfortable dining alone, and I wasn’t happy to find that I felt uneasy and exposed—two emotions that had gained a foothold while I was hanging out with Jawarski.

Determined to shake off the negative emotion, I unwrapped a set of disposable chopsticks. Opened the napkin packet and set out the silverware rolled inside. Sipped ice water and tried to ignore the amorous adventures of the couple closest to me. The waitstaff hustled in and out of the kitchen, carrying trays of food, delivering drinks, checking on diners to make sure they had everything they needed.

Dak-Ho hustled past me carrying a loaded tray, assured me that my tea would be out in a moment, and hurried to the other side of the dining room. As he bustled away again, I recognized Jason Dahl sitting across the way, and I was seized by a sudden profound need to ask him about the threat he claimed he’d heard Richie make against Laurence.

I hesitated just long enough to make sure that Jason was alone, then crossed the room and slid into the chair across from him just as he lifted a spring roll dripping peanut sauce to his mouth.

“Hey Jason.”

“Abby?” A glob of peanut sauce dropped to the table. “What’s up?”

“Just grabbing a quick bite. I saw you over here and decided to say hello.”

He smiled uncertainly and lowered the spring roll to the small white plate in front of him. “Are you alone? Do you want to join me?”

I waved off the invitation almost before he finished issuing it. “No, thanks. I don’t want to intrude.” I smiled warmly. “I just wanted to ask you about something. I ran into a reporter this afternoon who claimed that he’d been talking to you. His name’s John Haversham and he’s with KZPY.”

Jason had finally managed a bite, so he nodded as he chewed. “Yeah, I talked to him. Why?”

“He says that you heard Richie threaten Laurence. Is that true?”

Jason froze for an instant, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I did. Why?”

Disappointment made my heart heavy. I hadn’t realized how much I hoped Jason would tell me that Haversham was a big, fat liar . . . until he didn’t. “Would you mind telling me about it?”

“About what? Richie?”

“Yeah. What was going on when you heard him threaten Laurence, and what did he say?”

Jason put down his spring roll again and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Okay, sure. He was coming out of the auditorium. I was working on a backdrop. I don’t know what happened or anything. I just know that he was furious about something. He said something like he ought to rip out his fucking heart.”

“How did you know he was talking about Laurence?”

“Because I saw Laurence go in there a few minutes earlier.”

“Maybe Laurence wasn’t the only person in there,” I suggested.

Jason considered that, then shook his head. “Naw, I’m pretty sure he was. He told me he was meeting somebody in there and asked me to keep an eye out. I got the impression he didn’t want Vonetta to know.”

“Did Laurence say who he was meeting?”

Jason shook his head again. “No, but I assumed it was a woman. It usually was.”

“Did you notice when Richie arrived?”

“Nope. I assumed that he went in through one of the other doors. Either that, or he was already in there. Hey! Maybe that’s when he cut through the safety cable on the light. I never thought of that before.”

“Richie didn’t cut that cable,” I said automatically.

“If you say so.”

“I do. How difficult would it be for someone to climb up into the rigging and cut the cable?”

“Not that hard. The Playhouse is pretty small, so it’s not as if they’d have to go up two or three stories. All it would take is a few minutes alone and a ladder.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Where did you learn all this stuff?”

Jason grinned. “Would you believe high school? My sister was in the drama department, and I had to catch a ride home with her after school so I started hanging out around the kids on the stage crew.”

“There’s one other thing that’s been bothering me,” I said. “How hard do you think it would be for someone to use a spotlight as a murder weapon?”

“As a murder weapon?” Jason picked up his second spring roll and dipped it into the sauce. “I don’t see how it could be done. For the light to fall just right and hit someone in the exact spot that would cause death? It’s like a one in a million chance.”

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I thought.

Dak surged out of the kitchen with my Thai tea. He caught my eye and jerked his head, first toward my table, then toward Jason’s. Jason noticed him and asked again, “You sure you don’t want to join me? It’s no intrusion. Really.”

“Thanks, but no,” I said, and got to my feet. “I had a long day at work, and I’d be lousy company.” Besides, I had plenty to chew on. No matter how many questions I asked, the answers just kept taking me around in circles. Doyle, Colleen, Geoffrey, Vonetta, Serena. I cycled around and around, over and over, but I still wasn’t any closer to the solution.

The storm was just beginning in earnest as I finished dinner. Every muscle in my body ached with weariness, but my mind was too wound up for sleep. Still hoping I could clear my head, I walked through town slowly, enjoying the brisk air and the feel of snowflakes on my face. I’d always felt safe walking in town, even at night. Our low crime rate is one of the best things about Paradise, but even that is changing.

On impulse, I walked past the Playhouse. Many of the businesses in town were closed up tight, but since most of the cast and crew are working their real jobs during the day, night’s when a lot of the work is done in semiprofessional theater. When I saw lights still burning in the lobby and Vonetta’s Buick in its usual parking space, I decided sleep could wait.

I kicked the snow off my boots and brushed all the flakes I could from Max’s coat before stepping into the lobby. The scent of freshly cut wood filled the air, and country music blaring from a stereo in the distance mingled with the muffled sound of hammering and the high whine of an electric saw. The crew must be working on scenery.