'Til Dice Do Us Part (25 page)

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” I started to rest my hands on the counter between us, but jerked them away when I encountered something sticky. Cooties? I folded my hands in my lap instead. “I want you to know your friends haven’t deserted you. Don’t think for a minute any of us believes you’re guilty.”

“God, Kate, how did I ever get into this mess?” Claudia closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. “What will my sons think?”

“Surely they need to be told what’s going on. Want me to call them?”

“Not yet. I’d like to wait a while longer.” She drew a shaky breath and tried to smile. “Maybe the miracle I’m praying for will happen, and I’ll wake up from this horrible nightmare.”

“You’ve got the best trial attorney around. Surely that must be some comfort.”

“Of course, it is. BJ’s been wonderful.” She glanced over her shoulder at the guard who looked to be asleep with eyes wide-open, then dropped her voice. “The prosecutor convinced Judge Blanchard that the sheriff has a strong case against me. Things don’t look good.”

I tugged on my lower lip, debating how much—or how little—to say. Go for it, Kate, I counseled. Things can’t get much worse. “Claudia, hear me out. I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought, and I agree with Sheriff Wiggins on one point. The bullet didn’t get into the chamber all by itself. Someone had to have put it there.”

“But who?”

“Bill swears the gun wasn’t loaded when he gave it to Lance, and I believe him. Monica said she checked it herself exactly the way he showed her, but saw only blanks in the cartridge.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave, Kate, it wasn’t me.”

“I know, honey, but think hard. Do you know of anyone who might have wanted Lance dead? Any enemies he might’ve had?”

Her forehead crinkled in concentration. “None that I know of.”

Ignoring the stickiness, I tapped my fingers impatiently against the worn wooden counter. “You mentioned Lance was fond of gambling. That he placed a good-sized bet on the Super Bowl. You also once said you left Vegas sooner than planned. Could that be because of any gambling debts he might’ve had?”

Claudia seemed to consider this, then shook her head sadly. “I wondered about that myself, but I don’t think so. I checked my bank statements pretty carefully, but didn’t come across any large withdrawals, except for the thirty grand I told you about. I think Lance just wanted to remove himself from temptation. Besides,” she continued, “he’d just finished
Forever, My Darling
and was eager to get it into production. He was convinced Serenity Cove Estates’ close proximity to Atlanta would be a big plus—the perfect place to stage his masterpiece.”

“The sheriff mentioned they’d found another ten grand on Lance’s body. Even in my math-challenged mind, ten and ten add up to twenty. Do you have any idea where the other ten thousand could have gone?”

Claudia thought it over, then shook her head. “No, not a clue.”

My line of questioning seemed to have reached a dead end. We sat, neither of us speaking, while I searched for another approach. None of my favorite TV detectives would’ve given up this easily, and neither would I. “Think back, if you will, to the night of the shooting.” There, that sounded like an oft-scripted line. Regardless of what some people, such as Monica, try to tell you, a person can learn lots from watching TV. “Is there anything that stands out in your mind?”

Throwing back her head, Claudia closed her eyes. “I remember how loud the last shot sounded. So loud it made my ears ring.”

Hmm. Now that she’d mentioned it, I’d noticed, too. With each utterance of
Take that
in the script’s line,
Take that! And that and that!
the sound of gunfire had seemed to grow progressively louder until the final ear-shattering blast. A fitting conclusion, I’d thought at the time.

“Anything else?” I prompted.

Claudia opened her eyes, then rubbed her temples; whether she was deep in thought or fending off an impending migraine I couldn’t tell. “There is one more thing. . . .”

At some point in our conversation, I should’ve brought out my little black notebook and taken copious notes. I could have kicked myself for the oversight. Details like that could cause me to flunk Private Investigating for Wannabe Detectives.

“The gun kicked as I fired the last shot. I almost dropped it right then and there.”

“That it?”

She nodded, looking exhausted—exhausted and old. “It all happened so quickly, but just for an instant I imagined surprise crossed Lance’s face.” Blinking back tears, she added, “I may have wanted him out of my life, Kate, but I didn’t want him dead.”

“Coffee?”

“Decaf?”

“Does a cat have nine lives?” I winced at my choice of words. Cat, kitten, tuna, they all reminded me of the same orange feline.

Bill settled onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “If I drink regular coffee after six, I turn into a frequent flier on the old movie channel at all hours of the night. Must be a sign of getting old.”

“Mmm . . . I love old movies. Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.” I filled two mugs with decaf and took the stool next to Bill.

“Bogart and Bacall.”

“Hepburn and Tracy. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

True to his word, Bill had come by with Krystal’s car. His mechanic friend had even washed and waxed the little Honda Civic until it gleamed. I hadn’t said a word to Krystal about her car’s being returned. I wanted to surprise her.

Bill took a cautious sip of coffee. “How come Krystal’s at rehearsal and you’re not?”

“There’s something to be said for having a bit part.” I cradled the coffee mug in both hands, savoring its warmth. “Janine wanted to focus on act one. I have to hand it to Krystal. She never seems to mind all the time spent in rehearsals. She’s a real pro. Did I tell you she had a part in the road company of
Grease i
n Atlanta?”

“Atlanta?” Bill raised a brow. “Say, wasn’t Lance there in a play of some sort when he and Claudia hooked up?”

“You’re right, he was. You don’t suppose . . . ?”

Bill considered the possibility, then shook his head. “Nah, too much of a coincidence. What are the chances?”

For an instant, I thought we might be on to something. Disappointment left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Atlanta is huge,” I admitted grudgingly. “Lots of theatrical stuff going on in a place that size.”

But just in case it wasn’t happenstance, I made a mental note to swing by the library and ask Diane if she’d come across anything interesting when she Googled Lance. “Not to change the subject,” I said, “but I visited Claudia this afternoon.”

Bill paused, peering at me over the rim of his half-raised coffee mug. “How’s she holding up?”

I shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess, for someone with a first-degree murder charge hanging over their head. I know in my heart she’s innocent, Bill. I’m not going to rest until I find out who’s responsible.”

“Considering Ledeaux’s personality, you’d think there’d be a list of suspects as long as my arm.”

“You’d think.” I took a sip of coffee. “Sheriff Wiggins is determined to pin the blame on Claudia. And all because she happened to pull the trigger. Go figure.”

“Some folks just can’t see beyond the obvious.” Bill drained his mug, then set it down. “Hate to rush off, Kate, but tonight’s poker night at my place. Guys are coming at eight, so if you don’t mind giving me a lift . . .”

“Sure.” I hid my disappointment as best I could. “Let me grab my purse.”

We didn’t talk much on the short ride over. Bill’s house was along the golf course, on Gardenia Court just off Oleander Avenue. I kept stealing looks his way, but he seemed unusually preoccupied and disinclined to talk. An uneasy feeling coiled in the pit of my stomach.

Was I about to get dumped?

A gazillion questions buzzed through my brain, temporarily stomping out worry over Claudia. Was this the point in our relationship where he would tell me he wasn’t all that “into” me? Or we should start seeing other people? That things just weren’t working out; his fault, of course, not mine? Suddenly I was a senior in high school all over again and Patrick Taylor was breaking up with me a week before prom. Then Patrick, the rat fink, turned around and invited Melanie Johnson, the tramp. I turned into Bill’s drive and braked next to his Ford pickup.

Unbuckling his seat belt, he turned to face me, his expression serious. “Kate, there’s something I have to tell you. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

I braced myself for what was about to come. Bill had an affair with an old flame in Battle Creek. Maybe contracted an incurable disease. Or joined the Peace Corp and was moving to Zimbabwe.

“Shoot,” I said, as in
Take that! And that and that!
I flinched at my choice of words. Good thing I wasn’t holding a loaded Smith and Wesson.

“Something happened while I was away. Something I’m not proud of.”

Here it comes, Kate, brace yourself, there’s another woman. Probably a floozy who tempts men with home-cooked meals. I held my breath, prepared for the worst.

“I told my brother and my niece all about you.”

I waited for the other shoe to thud on the floor. When nothing happened, I started to breathe again. “I don’t understand. How was that a bad thing?”

He swallowed, looking miserable in the reflected glow of a coach light at the edge of the drive. Miserable but brave—a combination I found endearing. “My brother and niece are convinced you’re a ‘designing woman’ out to get my life savings. Judy, my niece, called you a Jezebel.”

Me . . . a designing woman? Jezebel? I’d never thought of myself in those terms. Now that I had, I have to admit the notion rather intrigued me. They made me sound like some sort of Medicare Mata Hari.

“The two of them badgered me until I promised to take things slow. They kept saying, ‘No fool like an old fool.’”

Déjà vu all over again
, as the philosopher Yogi Berra once said. I distinctly remembered my daughter, Jennifer, making the exact same comment.

“But that’s not the half of it,” Bill confessed dejectedly. “My niece ran a background check on you on the Internet.”

The mention of
background check
started a bubble of laughter down deep inside. A bubble that swelled and swelled until it couldn’t be contained. Try as I might, it was bigger than both of us. It burst out, not as a coy giggle or a hearty chuckle, but as a full-bodied laugh. I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. All the while I was aware of Bill watching me with concern. The poor man was obviously worried I’d lost my marbles. Finally regaining a modicum of control, I dug through my purse for a crumpled Kleenex.

“Here.” Smiling a little in spite of himself, Bill handed me a neatly folded white handkerchief.

“Thanks,” I managed between bouts of giggles.

“Here all this time, I was afraid you were going to be mad—or disappointed. If I’da known it would make you laugh so hard, I would’ve told you weeks ago.”

He listened with bemusement as I told him about Jennifer’s unwarranted concern about
my
pension. How she referred to him as a gigolo.

“Who, me?” he exclaimed, his pretty blue eyes rounding in disbelief. “A gigolo?”

I nodded, then went on to admit that my son, Steven, had run a background check on him similar to the one his niece had run on me.

Bill’s lips twitched in a smile. “Well, I’m relieved your family knows I’m not on the terrorist watch.”

“Or a pervert,” I added solemnly. “And I’m happy your brother and niece are aware I don’t have a criminal record or liens against my property.”

“No lawsuits . . .”

“No outstanding debts other than a mortgage.”

Another giggle escaped; then we both laughed ourselves silly.

Bill sobered first, then reached for my hand. “Forgive me, Kate?”

At this point I’d have forgiven him anything. I hadn’t felt this good in an age. “Whatever for?”

“Maybe the kids were right after all when they said there’s no fool like an old fool.” Raising my hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across the knuckles, causing my heart to go into a skid. “I never should have listened to my brother.”

“Why did you?” I asked when I’d recovered enough to speak.

He gave me that bashful smile I’d always found so appealing. “I’ve never been real smooth where the ladies are concerned. My brother, Bob, on the other hand, always had a way with women. I never should have let him influence me, but little by little he eroded my self-confidence. When I came home and saw how things had turned out for Claudia and Lance, two people who had rushed into things, I decided it might be best to heed Bob’s advice. To take things slow. Get to know each other better.”

“Do you still feel that way?” I asked quietly, glad it was dark enough so that Bill couldn’t read my expression to see how much his answer mattered.

“I had one of those come-to-Jesus moments people talk about and realized I’d be an even bigger fool if I let you get away.”

He scooted closer—no easy feat with a center console—and sealed the deal with a kiss that made my head spin.

Caught in the bright beam of headlights, we broke apart abruptly like teenagers caught necking on Lover’s Lane.

Bill swore softly under his breath as he pulled away. “Almost forgot about poker night. That must be Gus. He’s usually first to arrive. Are things OK between us?”

“More than OK.” I went to switch on the ignition and realized I had never turned it off. There was more than just one motor running. “Well, if you don’t mind dating a Jezebel, I have no trouble seeing a gigolo. I’m fixing a pot roast Sunday. Care to come for dinner?”

He climbed out of the car and grinned back at me. “See you Sunday.”

I smiled all the way home.

The following Monday, rehearsal started promptly, courtesy of the drill sergeant formerly known as Janine.