01 - Playing with Poison (23 page)

“Let me get this straight,” he interrupted. “You and Arnold Boykin shared a bottle of champagne?”

“French champagne,” I elaborated and Rye groaned. “And between Vikki Fitkin’s insinuations about Stanley’s unethical business practices, and how nervous Boykin got when I asked about Stanley’s promotion? Well, I knew something wasn’t right.”

He groaned again. “So you just happened to ask Rosylnn Mayweather about it.”

“Exactly! All this mischief at Boykin and Dent must have some significance. For instance, it seems likely Stanley had quite a few irate clients.”

“Believe it or not, Ms. Hewitt, we’ve already checked that angle. Densmore’s a genius at this kind of thing. He’s spent hours tapping into Sweetzer’s computer files and questioning his clients.”

“And?”

“And if he comes up with anything, you can learn about it from Jimmy Beak and the Channel 15 news crew, how’s that?”

I ignored the sarcasm and moved on. “What about Thomas Fell?” I asked. “He was jealous of Stanley’s promotion, and he was about to go snooping around Stanley’s office when I caught him this afternoon. He had no right to be in that office, you know?”

“And you did? You’re not just a little scary—you’re a lot scary.”

Again, I ignored Rye’s tone and politely asked if Thomas Fell had an alibi.

Rye was back to the deep breathing exercises. “Believe it or not,” he said, “reporting to you is not in my job description.”

“Well, it should be. It’s pretty annoying the way I keep giving you all these great ideas and you keep poo-pooing them.”

“Pretty annoying about sums it up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m kind of busy.”

“Oh?”

I swear I actually heard Rye roll his eyes. “Yeah, you know?” he said. “Trying to clear Candy Poppe, trying to nail the murderer, trying to keep you safe and out of trouble. All, of course, while I’m on this magnificent vacation.”

“Oh?”

“Good-bye, Ms. Hewitt.”

***

I once again resisted the urge to recline on my couch, put my shoes back on, and went downstairs to warn Candy.

“Who’s there?” It was Karen’s voice behind Candy’s door, and she didn’t sound all that hospitable.

“It’s just me, for Lord’s sake,” I said. The door swung open and Karen yanked me inside. “What are you doing here?” we asked each other.

Karen looked me up and down. “Another funeral, Jess?”

“No. I paid a visit to Boykin and Dent this afternoon.”

She smiled approvingly. “Did you get anything?”

“Apparently not.”

Camille Allen popped into my head, but with one glance at Candy I decided to follow Rye’s advice and let it be. Poor Candy was huddled in a corner of her pink—and I do mean pink—couch and absently munching on an Oreo. She was still in the bathrobe I had loaned her earlier, and she clearly did not look up to a discussion of her dead fiancé’s other women.

“Nothing Rye didn’t already know,” I added and sat down on the couch.

“Well, darn!” Karen stomped a work boot and did an about face toward Candy’s kitchen.

“Did you meet Roslynn?” Candy asked, and I told her we had an interesting conversation about writing.

“Publishing, actually,” I corrected myself.

“She’s real ambitious, huh?”

I nodded and then explained I hadn’t had time to change my clothes since I got home. “But I wanted to get up here to warn you about Jimmy Beak, Sweetie. He’s back.”

“We know.” Karen had returned from the kitchen. She handed me a glass of milk and sat down opposite us. “I came up to see how Kiddo was doing after what he did to her in his five o’clock report.”

“She brought cookies and milk and everything.” Candy waved an arm at the spread on her coffee table.

“I figured Kiddo needed some comfort food.”

Karen pushed the Oreos in my direction, and while I ate a cookie, they took turns describing Jimmy’s latest segment. Other than how quickly he had gotten the segment on the air, none of it was news to me. He had reported from my hallway, and on my couch, after all.

I grimaced. “I was actually hoping he wouldn’t air it.”

“No such luck,” Karen said. “But at least he didn’t bother Kiddo, personally. He must not know she’s home yet.”

Candy sat forward. “That’s good. Huh, Jessie?”

“Very good. The fewer people who know you’re here, the better.”

“Even my parents must think I’m still in jail. My phone hasn’t rung all day.”

“How exactly did you know she was home?” I asked Karen.

“Hey, it’s a small building.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I heard her up here. What are you getting at, girlfriend?”

I shook my head and admitted I had no idea. “I’m a bit on edge, okay? But as long as everyone in the building can keep a secret, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Say what?” Karen faced Candy. “Don’t tell me Bryce and Old Man Harrison know you’re back?”

“It’s a small building,” Candy reminded her and took two more Oreos. “They saw me.”

Karen groaned. “Not good, Kiddo.”

“Don’t worry,” Candy said. “Mr. Harrison never talks to anyone.”

“And Bryce promised me he’d keep quiet, too,” I added.

Karen slapped her forehead. “You guys! You can’t pay Bryce Dixon to keep a secret. He blabs to everyone over there.” She waved haphazardly in the direction of The Stone Fountain and I had to admit she had a point.

Candy, however, didn’t seem at all concerned. She grabbed another cookie and mumbled something about the icky jail food. I, too, ate a cookie and drank my milk. It wasn’t the most nutritious dinner I’ve ever had, but it was convenient.

“Umm, Karen?” I said eventually. “Did you happen to know Peter Harrison when you were in school?”

“Say what?”

Just my luck, Candy stopped eating and explained. “Jessie’s been learning all about everyone’s past on the
Clarence Courier
web site,” she said. “Wasn’t that smart of her?”

Karen folded her arms and glared. “Say what?”

“Umm,” I answered brilliantly as she continued frowning. I took a deep breath. “I’m getting desperate to figure things out, so I did a little research. I’m not proud of it, okay? And I hope you’ll forgive me for being so nosey, but—”

“Are you going to tell me what you found out or not?” Karen interrupted.

“Well, if you insist,” I said and gave her the gist of it. “Peter Harrison’s stellar teaching career at Clarence Central High was news to me,” I concluded. “Sweetie here says she was never in the band. But I thought maybe you were?”

“I was.”

“What?” Candy and I spoke in unison. Do not ask me why we found this revelation so fascinating.

“What was Mr. Harrison like back then?” Candy asked. “He wasn’t nearly as mean as he is now?”

“Why didn’t we know about this before?” I asked. “You’ve never mentioned it, have you? What instrument did you play?”

Karen held up her hands to stop the onslaught of questions. “I played the clarinet, if you must know. And yes, Kiddo, Old Man Harrison wasn’t mean at all back then.” She turned to me. “And I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize being in my high school marching band twenty years ago was all that noteworthy. You want we should discuss my old locker combination next?”

I mumbled that probably wouldn’t be necessary and stood up to leave.

Karen got up also. “If Jimmy Beak starts bugging you, call me,” she told Candy. “I’ll run up here with my electric drill a-buzzing. That should scare anyone away.”

***

Snowflake was sleeping on top of my computer when I arrived home. She opened one eye and glared, and I had to admit I had neglected
Temptation at Twilight
far too long. I shooed her to the windowsill and sat down to see how Rolfe and Alexis were faring without me.

Ever-resourceful, Rolfe Vanderhorn was busy re-shoeing his horse and planning his next dare-devil rescue of Alexis Wynsome. Meanwhile, our hapless heroine, now at the mercy of the evil Lord Derwin Snipe, sat fretting away in Derwin’s dungeon, a space even more miserable and damp than his brother’s turret.

But, lo and behold, when Derwin’s maid came down the steep and treacherous staircase to bring her a cup of water and a stale crust of bread, Alexis recognized an old friend from childhood! Why, it was none other than Annabelle Goodloe!

An exciting moment, indeed, but I yawned and left Alexis and Annabelle to catch up on old times while I checked my e-mail.

A message from Roslynn Mayweather made me groan out loud. I braced myself and opened her attachment. “
Lush and Tender
by Roslynn Mayweather,” I read on the title page. At least the woman had a good romance author-sounding name.

Roslynn the Romance Writer also had some talent. In fact, I was well into Chapter Four before I even noticed that the Channel 15 News vans had returned to Sullivan Street. They were parked in front of The Stone Fountain, but of course.

“Cross your fingers Bryce can keep quiet about Candy,” I told Snowflake as I closed my computer.

I did twenty minutes on my exercise bike, took a very hot and extended bath, and crawled into bed.

But just as I was about to doze off, Captain Rye’s ominous warning flashed through my mind. “If Candy Poppe isn’t the killer,” he had said, “someone you know and trust is.”

“At least that rules out Jimmy Beak,” I mumbled into the dark.

Chapter 23

Energized by a full hour of yoga, and armed with a full cup of coffee, I was at my desk by six a.m., working my way toward the exciting and unexpected conclusion of
Temptation at Twilight
. Indeed, the conclusion was so unexpected, even Adelé Nightingale didn’t know what it might entail.

Rolfe Vanderhorn spent an exasperating morning trying to learn the layout of Derwin Snipe’s castle. He spoke to the groundskeeper, the game warden, and the gardener. Although all three men were eager to help out, none of them had ever set foot inside the castle, and thus were no help whatsoever. And when Rolfe scanned the perimeter of the castle, he found nary a trace of a white hanky or anything else that might indicate where Alexis was being held.

Duly chagrined, he returned to his cottage to plan some more, little knowing that at that very moment, Alexis was enjoying an elaborate repast of roast pheasant with all the fixings which Annabelle Goodloe had sneaked down to Derwin’s dungeon. The clever and resourceful maid also smuggled in some cushions and blankets. She plopped her ample self down on a pillow next to Alexis and reported what she had learned while eavesdropping on her employer.

The previous evening Alexis had explained her unfortunate plight to Annabelle, and the two women debated why oh why the Snipe brothers had taken such profound interest in her. After all, Alexis told Annabelle, she had nothing to offer these men that other women didn’t have. Annabelle took a not so subtle gander at the more than ample bosom of her friend, but Alexis insisted there must exist some other, more substantial reason to explain the Snipes’ behavior.

Annabelle had vowed to learn the truth before the cock crowed, and sure enough, she succeeded. It seems that Alexis, who believed herself to be an orphan, was in reality the long lost daughter of the king! How King Percival had managed to lose his baby girl twenty years earlier was a long story which Annabelle chose not to relate. And how the Snipe brothers had managed to learn the true identity of Alexis Wynsome also remained a mystery. But once they figured it out, the evil duo devised their dastardly plans to kidnap the lovely lady.

Annebelle warned her friend of the brothers’ evil intentions. For that very day they planned on flipping a coin to determine which of them would marry Alexis, and hence, which of them would someday inherit King Percival’s entire realm! Annabelle expected Alexis to be upset at the idea of a forced marriage to one of the vile Snipe brothers, but Alexis only smiled serenely.

“Rolfe will make a fine king someday,” she mused.

***

Alexis may have been certain of the future, but I had no idea what twists my plot would take before it arrived at its inevitably happy ending. And Snowflake was insisting on lunch. I fed her, and myself, and went for a walk.

Between thinking about Candy Poppe and her problems, and Alexis Wynsome and hers, I walked up and down the streets of downtown Clarence, barely noticing where I was going. I had found my way back home, and was in the lobby sorting through my mail when Peter Harrison poked his head out of his door. He held his position and stared at me until I had to look up.

“May I interest you in some iced tea?” he asked, and I dropped my mail.

Not the most gracious response, but I hurriedly accepted his invitation, collected the papers I had dropped, and crossed the threshold into Peter Harrison’s home. It may have been the most surrealistic moment of my week.

He waved me toward the couch, but the piano caught my eye. I walked toward it, not even bothering to hide my curiosity. “I like your place,” I said as I glanced unabashedly at the manifold photographs, placards, and certificates lining the walls. I also noticed the furniture, all of which looked like expensive family heirlooms and antiques. But the piano took center-stage.

“This is a grand piano, isn’t it?” I asked.

“A baby grand, yes. Do you take sweet tea?”

I looked up. “Whatever you’re having, Mr. Harrison. Thank you.”

He told me to call him Peter, and when I dropped my mail again, I do believe the man actually giggled. He invited me to take a seat, and this time I obeyed, settling myself and my stupid mail on the couch while he went to retrieve our beverages.

“You say you’ve never played, Miss Hewitt?” Mr. Harrison tilted his head toward the piano as he came back into the room.

“It’s Jessie,” I said. “And, no. I have no musical talent.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He set the iced tea on front of me and sat down. “Just look at those hands.” He pointed to my hands, and I looked at them as if they were brand new.

“You have very long fingers,” he explained. “Perfect for the piano. You could reach more than an octave without even trying.” He leaned forward. “May I?”

I blinked twice as Peter Harrison gently grasped my right hand and stretched it wide open.