A Rip Roaring Good Time (11 page)

The very thought of Lexie being left to her own devices against thieves, thugs, drug addicts, and other scum of the earth creatures, made my blood run cold. And the shiny, stainless steel commode in the corner of the room made me shake my head in horror. If I were sharing a cell with the kind of individuals I was visualizing, I'd refuse to use it even if it caused me to swell up like a water balloon until I finally burst and sprayed them all with urine like water spewing up from a slit in a garden hose. I was curious if there was a separate holding tank for each gender but didn't ask. We had more important things to cover in the half-hour we were allotted to chat with Lexie.

"Hello, baby," Stone said in greeting. "Are you doing okay?"

"Well, I guess I'm holding up as well as can be expected," she said somberly. Wyatt unlocked the cage and we all went in. The thought crossed my mind that it was as close as I ever wanted to get to being in jail. After I'd grown up, I understood exactly what my pappy had meant by not wanting to find myself in the "big house".

Lexie stood up and walked across the room slowly, as if she were stiff from whatever position she'd slept in the previous night. I wondered how she could have slept at all. She hugged her daughter and then fell into Stone's arms for a long and moving embrace. She finally backed away, and with tears welling up in her eyes, she said, "I didn't kill Trotter Hayes. I hope you all believe me. I might not have liked the fellow, but I would never take someone's life or even consider physically harming another human being."

We all replied with words of support, letting her know we'd never even contemplated the notion she might be guilty of murder. Lexie was the kind of person you didn't have to have been acquainted with for very long before you recognized the goodness in her heart and the purity of her soul. She and Stone were what Rip and I like to refer to as "good people".

"Have you heard anything about what's going on? Except for the few tidbits Wyatt's been able to pass on to me, I'm being kept entirely out of the loop. Surely the detectives are looking for the real killer, or killers, aren't they?"

"I don't think so, honey. I'm fairly sure they're convinced they've already apprehended the killer. And, in their eyes, that would be you, as you already know. Rip and Rapella have offered to do whatever they can to help us find out who the real perpetrator is, since the detectives are making no real effort to look for other suspects."

"Oh?" She said, glancing our way. She was probably wondering what two old geezers could possibly do to help her out of her precarious situation. One of us could barely move under his own power without a cane, and the other one, I must admit, was a little bit flustered by the entire incident. But I've always believed that if the will was there, the rest would fall into place in due time. And Rip and I definitely had the will to do whatever it took to identify the real killer.

Stone looked our way too, and I could tell by his expression he was suddenly having second thoughts about letting us butt into the case. I was surprised when he turned toward Lexie and said, "You know I don't usually like to have you or anyone else who's not officially assigned to the case interfere with a murder investigation. But, since Rip was in law enforcement his entire career, I feel very comfortable with the Ripples nosing around and looking for clues that might lead to the apprehension of the actual killer of Trotter Hayes. Under the current circumstances, I feel like we have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Stone," Rip said. "I do have a few tricks up my sleeve from the thirty-odd years of detective work and the boatload of criminal investigations I've been involved with. And then there's Rapella. How do I put this in a delicate and non-offensive way? Well, let's just say that Rapella is Rapella, and leave it at that."

Even though it seemed like a rather back-handed compliment, I beamed at my husband's words. I wasn't actually sure if I should be standing there with that stupid grin on my face, or walloping Rip on the head with my over-sized raggedy purse. The heavy thermos in my two-decade-old canvas bag would have definitely left a mark.

I was so rattled, I was lucky to remember my own name at the time, so I'd completely forgotten I'd brought the small thermos of stout coffee to give Lexie until I'd considered beaning Rip with it. A caffeine boost was something I knew Lexie would welcome and that she'd appreciate the gesture. I was correct. You'd have thought she'd just matched all the numbers in a lottery drawing when I handed it to her.

As Lexie sipped on the coffee, Stone and Rip asked her questions regarding what she could remember about the incident that had left the young, repugnant jerk dead on the parlor floor. I pulled out a small notebook, usually utilized for grocery and to-do lists, and wrote down a few important details as the rest of them discussed the crime. Ideas were forming in my mind as they conversed. A few of them even had merit.

"I had taken the sheet cake out to set on the buffet table, intending to cut the cake so it'd be ready to serve after Wendy blew out the candles on the regular birthday cake that Georgia had baked and decorated. Wasn't that a beautiful cake she made for you, Wendy? I loved the purple icing and the—"

"Don't lose focus, Mom. It was a terrific cake, but we need to get back to what you remember. Okay?" Wendy said. She was aware of how easily her mother could get distracted when she was nervous, I was sure, and didn't want her to take off on an unrelated tangent since our time with her was limited.

"Oh, sorry. So anyway, I then decided to wait on cutting the cake until the lights were back on because I didn't want to mess it all up or risk getting cut by the knife again."

"Again?" Rip asked. "What do you mean by 'again'?"

"Well, it was dark at the time, and as I was feeling around for the knife I'd seen Lori set next to the cake earlier in the evening, I sliced the tip of my index finger. I assume that's how my blood got on the knife that was used to kill Trotter." With tears in her eyes, Lexie held up the bandaged finger as if she were offering proof of her story.

"It's okay, honey," Stone said. "It wasn't your fault, and you had no way of knowing what was about to happen. You don't need to feel guilty about the young man's death. Go on with your story."

"So I decided to return to the kitchen to help Georgia and Lori Piney get everything moved to the buffet table, which was a challenging task in the dark. They were going back and forth to their cars to haul in boxes and trays. Trotter, who was standing by himself at that point, stopped me on my way to the kitchen. He asked me if I'd please bring him a drink, preferably whiskey," Lexie explained.

"And you told the scumbag you would?" I asked in a disgusted tone.

"Yes, I did, Rapella," she replied with a sigh. "I guess it's the ingrained 'polite and accommodating hostess' trait in me. We own a lodging facility, you know. And being over-the-top accommodating is what keeps customers coming back and recommending our B&B to others. In fact, we often—"

"Mom, please! Stick to the story about what happened," Wendy insisted. "We haven't got all afternoon to talk with you."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry again! So, anyway, I continued on to the kitchen. Rip had brought me a bottle of Crown Royal earlier, and I opened it and made the drink for Trotter. I'll admit it actually flitted through my mind that if I'd had some kind of poison on hand at that moment, I'd have been tempted to add just a touch to his drink. You know, just enough to give him a severe enough bellyache he'd have to leave the premises before Wendy and Andy arrived. But, believe me, it was only fanciful thinking. I'd never actually do such an awful thing, even to a man like Trotter Hayes."

"We know you wouldn't, honey. Continue on," Rip replied.

"Okay. Just as I started to take the drink out to the parlor, Georgia walked in the back door with a large tray of pulled pork sandwiches. She asked me if I'd mind helping her carry in an even heavier tray of brisket. I told her I'd just made a drink for Trotter Hayes but I could spare a minute or two and would be more than happy to help. She flinched as if Trotter's name was familiar to her and that she wasn't a big fan of his either. It seemed clear that his reputation preceded him."

"Oh, trust me, Mom. It definitely did," Wendy replied. "Go on. What happened next?"

"After I went outside and assisted Georgia, we both returned to the kitchen. She exited the room to take some of the brisket sandwiches to the buffet table on a cobalt blue platter that reminded me of my antique bowl, an old family keepsake. Did you see that platter, Rapella? Remind me to show you the bowl I inherited from—"

"Really? Come on, Mom," Wendy said. "Stick to the story!"

"Did anything seem amiss when you came back in from outside with Georgia?" Rip asked Lexie as I continued to take notes.

"No, not that I recall," Lexie responded. "Although the spoon I'd stirred Trotter's drink with was lying directly on the counter instead of in the spoon rest where I'd left it. I only noticed it because it's kind of a pet peeve with me. It may sound trivial, but I don't like to have to continually wipe off the counters with disinfectant."

Then she shook her finger at my husband as if something had just occurred to her while she was reflecting back. "Wait a minute, Rip. I remember now that the pantry door was closed when we walked back inside with the tray of sandwiches. I'm almost positive it had been wide open with the motion sensor light on when I left the kitchen to help Georgia. So now that I think about it, it would only be illuminated if someone were moving around in there while I was preparing Trotter's drink."

"So, it's quite possible someone was in the pantry and heard you tell the caterer you'd just made a drink for Trotter and were heading outdoors for a short spell to help her carry in a tray of meat," Rip mused out loud. "That would have been the perfect opportunity for the drink to be spiked if the assailant was in the pantry when you made that statement. Where was Georgia's daughter at the time?"

"I had just seen Lori placing a stack of paper plates on the buffet table. She was arranging the plastic silverware, as well as the red Solo cups for the pop and beer. Stone and I always refer to those as Judge Ito cups because he always had one on the bench during the O.J. Simpson trial and ─"

"Mom, please─"

"So, anyway, I assumed Lori was still putting things in order on the table in the parlor, such as the condiments, a few side dishes, and the glass goblets I'd purchased for Sheila's punch and the mixed drinks I'd expected to be serving. Georgia had provided deviled eggs, cole─"

"Had anyone else entered the kitchen earlier while you were mixing Trotter's drink?" Rip asked Lexie before Wendy could chastise her mother once again for getting sidetracked. The rest of us had been quietly taking in their Q and A exchange.

"I can't remember exactly, because I was running around like a greyhound on speed, but I do think a few of the party guests had wandered in and left shortly afterward. I was too busy to even turn around to acknowledge them, so I have no idea who they were. But I did at one point hear at least two females laughing at something they'd just been discussing."

"Did you recognize any of their voices?" Rip asked.

I could sense the thoughts racing through Lexie's mind as she tried to place their voices but couldn't. I don't think she'd ever met a lot of the guests so it stood to reason she wouldn't recognize many of their voices. Finally, she shook her head and said, "I did recognize one of the voices, but I can't recall now whose voice it was, not knowing at the time it could end up potentially being an important factor in a murder investigation."

"Of course, that's only natural," Rip added before motioning for her to keep reciting her story.

"Okay, so I took the drink out to the parlor and had to feel my way around to find Trotter in the near total darkness of the room. It was the sound of his obnoxious laughing that led me to him. After I handed him the drink, he thanked me."

"I'd think so," I interjected. "He should have been thanking you for not sending his sorry butt packing the minute he stepped on your property."

"Hush, Rapella! Go on with your story, Lexie," Rip remarked. The look he shot me spoke volumes. I knew the clock was ticking so I vowed I wouldn't interrupt with any more of my personal opinions, even though it'd be difficult to keep them to myself. I did, however, regret not whacking Rip on the head earlier when the thermos was still in my bag.

"After he thanked me, I basically just mumbled incoherently and returned to the kitchen for a short spell. I picked up a tray of small bowls containing pickles, olives, and butter mints. No, wait! I think it was a bowl of cashews, not olives. No, not cashews, it was roasted almonds, or maybe pistachios—"

"Oh, good God!" Wendy exclaimed in exasperation. "It doesn't matter if you brought out a bowl of cocoa puffs or crack pipes! Quit getting bogged down in insignificant details. Wyatt's going to run us out of here in less than fifteen minutes."

"Oh, okay. I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was on the clock. So I then went back out to the parlor and made my way over to the buffet table to set the bowls down. Afterward, I felt around in the dark until I located the knife lying next to the cake. I was going to take the knife into the kitchen to wash it off, realizing I may have left blood on its handle when I'd sliced my finger earlier."

We were all listening intently to her reciting the events that led up to the moment Trotter's dead body became the center of attention, leaving Lexie in a compromising position at the time the lights came back on in the parlor.