A Fatal Slip (13 page)

“I’ll make it a half order. That’s barely worth the trouble it takes to eat it.”

I felt better after I’d eaten; Shelly had been right about that. Sometime while my back was turned, Jackson had slipped out of the café. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to make the cut of his list of best friends in Maple Ridge, but in all honesty, I probably wouldn’t have made it before our chat, either. I wasn’t ready to turn Jackson over to the sheriff, but the builder had done nothing to dissuade me of the idea that he might have killed Charlie Cobb. I needed to nose around some more before I’d be able to make a definitive judgment.

I wasn’t all that eager to go to the next place on my list, but I didn’t have much choice. I had to go wherever my suspects were. I didn’t normally hang out at bars, not that I thought there was anything wrong with the lifestyle. The world was full of all types, from homebodies to carousers, and if I happened to be in the first camp, it didn’t mean I couldn’t understand why the second group existed. I was headed to the Thirsty Swan because of its owner, Charlie Cobb’s brother, the soon to be wealthy Rick.

It was quiet when I got there, but no doubt that would change as the evening progressed. I knew who Rick was, but it was more because we lived in the same small town than because of our similar social schedules. I wasn’t sure he knew who I was, though, and I was hoping to use that to my advantage. A few men glanced my way as I walked in the door, but they quickly lost interest. I suppose I wasn’t the dream date they were all hoping for. A short, rail-thin man sat on one end of the bar, nursing what looked like a Coke—what other ingredients the drink might contain were beyond my powers of deduction.

“What can I get you?” Rick asked me as I approached the bar. He was a tall, overweight man with a crew cut of blond hair.

“A Coke would be nice,” I said.

After he packed a glass with ice and added a slight portion of soda from a flexible tap, Rick slid the glass to me. “That’ll be three dollars.”

I could have bought a six-pack from the grocery store for that, but I couldn’t very well balk at the price.

I counted out three singles, then added another to the pile. “One’s for you,” I said.

He barely glanced at it as he stuffed it in his pocket. I saw a tip jar on one edge of the bar, but evidently the owner didn’t share with his employees.

He was starting to walk away when I said, “I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”

He glanced at me, then said, “It was his time. When your number’s up, it’s up.”

“And your father, too,” I added. “It must be hard losing them so close together like that. What was it, forty-four days apart?”

That got me more than a glance. He leaned on the bar and bore down on me. “I didn’t know anybody was keeping count. What do you want?”

I should have been ready with a glib answer, but all I could manage was, “Just a cool drink.”

He shrugged. “That extra dollar didn’t buy you a conversation with me.”

“How much would a real answer cost me?” I said, diving into my purse.

He wasn’t taking me seriously; I could see that as soon as I looked at him. With a snort, he threw a bar towel over his shoulder and called out to the skinny man at the end of the bar. “Jeff, take my place. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Should I follow you?” I asked. Maybe he’d changed his mind about talking to me.

“Not unless you want to see what the men’s room looks like,” he snapped, and a few patrons in the bar laughed at my expense.

This wasn’t going well, even I realized that.

I thought about leaving, but not before I drank my three-dollar Coke. At least it wasn’t flat, not what I could taste of it.

The substitute bartender Rick had called Jeff came over. “Would you like another one?”

“Not unless they’re buy one, get one free,” I said.

That got a smile. “Hardly. Rick likes to keep his prices high during the day.”

“I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t a big fan of happy hour.”

“No, the man can be kind of a grump.”

I finished my Coke, then asked, “So, what’s he doing here? He just lost a brother. Shouldn’t he be in mourning or something?”

Jeff frowned. “They weren’t all that close. In fact,” he added as he lowered his voice, “I honestly believe he was kind of glad. The two of them hated each other from the day Charlie came into the world. Evidently, Rick wasn’t all that fond of sharing with his little brother, and that never changed, not until the day Charlie died. Rick gets it all, and he’s told a few of us his bar days are over as soon as he can find a buyer for the place.”

That was an interesting little tidbit. “Do you happen to know why forty-four was a magic number for him?”

“You mentioned it yourself,” Jeff said.

“I heard a friend talking about it,” I said backpedaling. “I didn’t know what it meant.” I wanted to see if the reason for Rick’s double inheritance was known among his acquaintances.

Jeff said, “Rick seemed to know, and in the end, I guess that’s all that matters. He doesn’t exactly open up to us about his personal life.”

The owner came back, and Jeff’s face shut down the second he saw him.

As he approached the bar, Rick told Jeff, “Back to your seat.”

As the substitute bartender did as he was told, Rick turned to me. “Are you still here?”

“No, I left ages ago,” I said, adding a smile to try to cut through his sarcasm. It was like trying to use a candle in a hurricane.

“Unless you buy another drink, that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

I stood. It was obvious I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him tonight. “I’ll be back,” I said.

Rick didn’t even bother answering, which I thought was a little churlish of him.

 

Bill was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked into the house. “Where have you been? Do I smell smoke?”

“I was at the Thirsty Swan. The place was hazy with smoke, so it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if I reek of it. I’m going to take a shower.” I considered burning the clothes I was wearing. It was probably the only way I was going to get the odor out of them. That was nonsense, of course. I’d wash everything later, but for now, I buried them in the bottom of the hamper.

Bill came in while I was still in the shower. “What were you doing in a bar?”

“Paying too much for a drink,” I answered as I shampooed my hair.

“If you’re going to start drinking, we should probably just get you a bottle so you can drink at home. It’s a lot cheaper than buying it by the glass.”

“I had a Coke, you nitwit,” I said.

“Couldn’t you have gotten one of those out of a machine? It would definitely be cheaper than buying one at a bar.”

I turned off the water for a second and pulled the shower curtain aside. “Let me get this straight. You have no objection to me hanging out in bars, but if I get thirsty, I should get a drink from the soda machine. Does that about sum it up?” Sometimes I wanted to wring my husband’s neck with my bare hands.

“I figured you had your reasons for being there, the owner being Charlie’s brother and all. Do you want your towel?” he asked as he offered it to me.

I gestured to the shampoo still in my hair. “Does it look like I’m ready for it?”

“Then put the curtain back. You’re getting the floor all wet.”

I jerked the curtain toward me, and the blasted thing came down. “I thought you were going to fix that,” I said as I reached for the errant bar.

“I thought I did,” Bill said as he got to it first and put it back up. “There, it’s fine now.”

“Until it falls again,” I snapped.

“You really shouldn’t hang out in bars. They make you testy.”

“I wasn’t there for the companionship,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “I needed to talk to Rick Cobb.”

“Fat lot of good that did you, I bet,” Bill said. “The man talks like everybody in the world owes him money. I can’t believe you’re still digging into Charlie’s murder.”

“I’m not going to wait around until the sheriff decides to do it,” I said as I finished rinsing my hair. I pulled the shower curtain back gingerly, and it managed to hold its grip.

“I don’t like it,” Bill said.

“I don’t, either, but what choice do I have?”

I wrapped up my hair in a towel, and Bill said, “I’ve been married to you for nearly thirty years, and I still don’t see how you get that blasted towel to stay up on your head like that.”

“There has to be some sense of mystery between us, don’t you think?” I said. My snit was over, at least for now. I was aggravated with my lack of real progress, not with my husband, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on him. Investigations took time, I knew that. I had some good leads now, and I’d chip away at them until something cracked. I dried off with another towel, then slipped into my robe.

“I always liked you in that,” Bill said.

“You like me in just about anything,” I replied.

“That’s true enough. Except for that blue dress you just bought.”

Why, oh, why couldn’t he learn to stop while he was ahead. “I thought you liked it.”

“I could tell you did, so I went along with you.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “What exactly don’t you like about it?”

“I’m not saying. I never should have brought it up.”

“I agree with you there 100 percent, but you have, and now I want to know why.”

He backed out of the bathroom, and I followed him through the hallway into our bedroom. “I can’t plead the fifth amendment against self-incrimination, can I?”

“We’re not in court, but we might be, if you don’t come up with the right answer.”

“Any chance you’ll buy it if I say you look too good in it, and I don’t want other men looking at my wife?”

“Not on your life,” I said as I poked a finger to his chest. “Spill.”

“It makes your rear end look big,” he said softly as he ducked for a blow that wouldn’t come.

“I thought it might when I bought it. Bill, it’s important you tell me these things before I take off the price tags,” I said.

“So I get a free pass in the store when you’re trying things on? No consequences, is that it?”

“Within reason,” I said.

Bill shook his head. “That’s not good enough. If you don’t want my opinion, don’t drag me shopping with you. If you ask, from now on, I’m going to tell you the truth.”

“The same goes for me, then.”

He grinned. “That’s where you lose. I haven’t bought anything new in years.”

“That’s my point exactly,” I said as I saw his grin start to fade. “You need to update your wardrobe.”

“Not with this new policy, or from now on, all you’re going to hear from me is everything looks fine.”

He had me, and we both knew it. “Fine,” I said. “Would you like a snack?”

“Do we have any pie?” he asked hopefully.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you baked one while I was out at the bar,” I said.

“Then there’s no pie,” he replied glumly.

“We can run to the store and get one,” I said. I knew how my husband’s yens ran, and unless I got some pie into him, he’d be obsessing about it all night.

“No, that’s fine. I don’t need any.”

“There’s a huge chasm between want and need,” I said as I got dressed. “I won’t be long. What kind would you like?”

“Cherry. No, apple. Peach if they’ve got it. Definitely peach. Or apple.”

“Would you like to come with me?” I asked as I finished dressing.

“I will if you want me to,” he said reluctantly.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ll be back in a flash,” I said as I grabbed my purse.

“What kind of pie are you going to get?”

“I’ll surprise you,” I said. I honestly didn’t mind the treat run. Bill’s craving had crept into my mind, and a slice of pie might be just what I needed to clear my head and make sense of all of the information I’d been bombarded with lately. It was a lot to ask of a slice of pie, but even if the pie didn’t help me sort out the Charlie Cobb case, I’d still enjoy eating a slice, so it was hardly a worst-case scenario.

In ten minutes, I was studying the selection of pies at the grocery store, not sure which way to go. Bill loved apple and peach, and the decision should have been easy, since they were out of peach. I was ready to buy the apple when a lemon meringue caught my eye. I hadn’t had one of those in ages, mostly because Bill didn’t like them. I stared at it wistfully for a few seconds, then grabbed the apple. I was three steps away when I realized that there was nothing in the world wrong with buying both. So what if I ate too much? I could always start walking to work, and now that our tourist season was in full swing, it wasn’t like I was just sitting around waiting for closing time. “I deserve it,” I said out loud as I placed the lemon meringue on top of the apple. There would be plenty of pie at the Emerson house tonight.

I was walking toward the checkout when I happened to glance down the paper goods aisle. A woman was standing midaisle, crying, and helping herself freely to an opened box of tissues. I didn’t have to see her face to realize that it was Rose Nygren.

“Rose? Are you all right?” I asked as I approached.

She looked up at me, her cheeks and eyes beet red from her crying jag. I didn’t envy her alabaster complexion. It radiated the fact that she was terribly troubled.

“I’m fine,” she sniffled through her tears.

“That’s nonsense, and we both know it.” I put my pies down on an empty section of shelf and put my arms around her. “You can tell me. What’s the matter?”

“He’s gone,” she managed to get out through her tears.

“I know. You already told me you broke up with your boyfriend, remember?” The poor thing was really rattled if she’d forgotten that conversation we’d had at Shelly’s.

“No, you don’t understand. He’s really gone.”