Death by Marriage (6 page)

This
was a completely different angle. Mattheus had to find out who the guy was,
check him out. His bill could have gotten too big for him. What better way to
get rid of it than to take out Paul?

“Thanks
for telling me this,” said Mattheus. “Can you give me the guy’s names?”

“Nah,”
said Roomey. “That’s private.”

“This
is a murder investigation,” Mattheus grimaced.

Roomey
nodded. “I know. I can’t give you his name, but I can tell you which guy in the
casino knows who the players were in the game. There weren’t so many of us.  It
won’t be hard to track him down.”

This
was one crafty guy. Mattheus was grateful. Obviously Roomey cared about his
friend. “Anything else?” Mattheus pressed on.

Roomey
still looked troubled. “Well, sooner or later you’re gonna hear this. Paul and
Kendra were married a lot of years.  She got a little lonely at the end. It wasn’t
a big deal. Natural, if you asked me. Probably inevitable.”

It
was
natural, Mattheus thought, to get lonely, even after years with
someone at your side. Mattheus suddenly liked the guy and respected him.

“How
did you know she was lonely?” Mattheus wanted a little more.

“We
talked a little bit from time to time. I’d call to talk to him and she’d pick
up the phone.”

“She
said
she was lonely?”

Roomey
got jittery. “Of course not. I just felt it. She’d hang on too long, want to
talk more and more. That’s all I noticed.”

“And
where were you the day Paul died?” Mattheus couldn’t help but ask.

Roomey
slithered in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s
routine,” said Mattheus, “nothing more.  How did you hear about it?”

Roomey
just smiled oddly. “Everyone who knew them was asked what they were doing that
afternoon, but me. I was waiting for the time someone would ask me.”

“It’s
routine,” said Mattheus repeated.

“Sure,
I realize that. There was a design show at the museum in town that day. My
drawings and models were exhibited at it. I was there all day. So were lots of
others.”

Convenient,
thought Mattheus.  “And Kendra wasn’t there?”

“Usually
she attends every year, but this time she woke up feeling lousy. Rotten luck
for her, though.” His brow curled and his eyes glossed over. You could see how
much it bothered him.

“You
married yourself?” asked Mattheus.

Roomey
drew back then, and tightened his jaw. He didn’t like the turn of the
conversation.

“I’m
not the marrying kind,” he said finally, between closed lips. “Never have been.
Never will.”

Mattheus
looked at him, on alert.

Roomey
felt it immediately. “Is that another crime?” he asked, jittery.

It
was something in the tone of his voice that put Mattheus off.  “Of course not,”
said Mattheus.

“How
about you?” Roomey turned the tables then. “You the marrying kind?”

Mattheus
drew back.   “Once I was,” said Mattheus. “At a different time.”

“Anyone
in the picture now? Roomey asked, interested.

“No,”
said Mattheus, “no one,” as the muscle under his left eye started to twitch.

Cindy
slipped into a fitted black, sleeveless dress, brushed her hair loose over her
shoulders, grabbed a small, sparkly, evening bag, and went to the bar that Paul
hung out at after work. It was downtown, on a wide street lined with clubs,
bars and topless night spots. The front entrance of the bar was hidden by a
long purple awning, covered with shining lights. There were pots of flowers
outside, and you could hear the music of a live jazz band playing inside. 

When
she walked in, people were speaking freely to each other, drinking, laughing.
Cindy saw some guys at the bar look up at her admiringly. It would take about
three minutes, Cindy figured, to get a date for dinner and beyond.

Cindy
thought about Mattheus for a moment and smiled.  She wondered what he was doing
in the casino, if he was getting useful tips. She also wondered how he would
react seeing her here now. There was a kind of freedom she felt with him away,
but he was also on her mind.

Cindy
went to the bar, took an empty seat, and ordered a rum and coke. The bartender
was a local, in his mid-forties, with warm eyes and a welcoming smile. Probably
a good person to start talking to, Cindy thought, especially as this was one of
Paul’s regular haunts.

“Did
you happen to know Paul Robbins?” Cindy started lightly.

The
bartender stopped and frowned. “Of course. Who didn’t know Paul?” He stared at
Cindy. “Why do you ask?”

A
woman sitting next to Cindy, with long, flowing chestnut brown hair, a low cut
dress,  and bright, red lipstick, overheard and broke in. “You looking for Paul
Robbins?” she asked.

“Yes,”
said Cindy.

“Well,
it’s too late, honey,” the woman went on.

“That’s
a hell of a way to talk about my friend,” the bartender interrupted, offended.

The
woman shrugged, “What did I say? Just that it’s too late.”

“What
would Paul do if he heard you?” the bartender’s eyes were flashing. “Is that
how he deserves to be talked about?”

“He
can’t hear anything anymore,” she said and turned on her barstool to Cindy. “He’s
gone.”

“I
realize,” said Cindy.

“You
realize?” The bartender looked really perturbed.

“I
came down to the island to help with the case,” Cindy said softly.  She liked
the bartender and wanted help anyway she could get it.

“Who
are you?” the woman asked. Apparently she’d taken a liking to Cindy.

“Cindy
Blaine,” Cindy said,

“A
cop?” the woman’s eyes opened wide.

“Private
detective,” said Cindy.

“Working
for who?” the bartender was riveted.

“Kendra
Robbins,” said Cindy.

“Whew,
that’s a new development,” the bartender seemed relieved. “Forget about paying
for the drink. It’s on the house.”

Cindy
was surprised. “No need for it.”

“Listen,
anyone that’s helping out Paul is a friend of mine,” he said. “His wife needs a
hand, too.”

The
woman besides Cindy didn’t seem to agree.  “We women get what we deserve,” she
said under her breath.

“Kendra
deserved this?” Cindy asked her, amazed.

The
woman grabbed her drink and poured what was left of it down her throat. “I’m
not saying Kendra in particular, I’m just saying a woman gets what she’s
willing to fight for.”

Cindy
was fascinated.

“Don’t
pay any attention to her,” said the bartender. “She’s had too much to drink –
she rails against everything.” 

The
woman next to Cindy put her glass down and asked for another. The bartender
left to get it and she turned to Cindy.

“I
had to ask for another to get rid of him. He’s a terrific pain when he wants to
be. Thinks he runs the island. Well he doesn’t, the only thing he runs is this
bar.  Paul was a big tipper, took good care of him. Paul’s wife never came here
though. The bartender never met her once.”

“You
knew Paul’s wife well?” Cindy asked her.

“Not
at all,” said the woman, straightening out her skirt. “I knew Paul, though. He
hung out here almost every night after work. Except when he was out of town.”
She looked at Cindy knowingly.

“Playing
around?” said Cindy.

“I
didn’t say it, you did,” said the woman.

“He
came on to you?” Cindy wanted more.

“Never
me. Never anyone I knew, either. Whenever I saw him he was just chatting it up with
the girls.  Paul loved to chat up the ladies and the guys as well. He needed
attention. Tons of it.  If you asked me, I could see this coming. He was a
slippery kind of guy.”

“How?”

“Honey,
are you playing dumb or what? I thought you said you were a detective. Is this
your act for getting me to spill the beans? Beautiful, sweet, innocent
detective, looks like a lamb on the outside -- but is really a tiger
underneath.”

Cindy
respected how forthright she could be. “I’m new at this,” she said, “I need to
hear whatever you can tell me.” The place was starting to get crowded and it
was hard to hear over the din.

“I
already told you” the woman said, “Paul was crafty, knew how to work the crowd,
a few laughs here, a few smiles there. What for? I didn’t buy it. I could see
his mind ticking off all kinds of things.  I mean if there’s a wife waiting at
home, what the hell was he doing hanging here?”

“Ever
ask him that?”

“Come
on. I know better. I come down here for the same thing he did. Company. Name is
Andrea Bell, by the way. I own the spa two blocks down.”

“Pleased
to meet you,” said Cindy.

The
bartender returned. “She filling you in on the dirt in town?” He asked as he
placed her drink in front of her.

“Come
on Perry,” she said, “lighten up. You’re a different guy since Paul died. Don’t
be so defensive.”

“Nothing
to do with being defensive,” the bartender said, “just making sure that my
friend gets his due respect.”

“You
get respect if you deserve it,” said Andrea. “And it’s as simple as that.”

The
bartender leaned in. “You think Paul didn’t deserve it?”

“Who
knows?” said Andrea.

The
bartender turned to Cindy then. “This is a woman,” he said, “who doesn’t trust
anyone. It comes from working in that spa for too many years. Hearing too many
stories, from too many losers in town.”

Cindy
wondered if that would happen to her as well. Would she turn into another
Andrea, doubting the motives of everyone?

“I’m
a busy man,” the bartender said then, “I can’t stay here all night. You want to
know more, come back and see me later.” And he left.

“That’s
a hell of an invitation,” Andrea said and kicked Cindy’s foot under the bar. “You
come back and you’ll get more than conversation. You here alone?” she said.

“For
tonight,” said Cindy.

“My
partner Mattheus is out of town right now. Why?”

“Look,
you got to know the lay of the land here. It’s not so smart to prowl around on
your own. Especially in a dress like that. Looks like you’re out for a hot
evening. But maybe you are? How do I know?”

“I’m
not,” Cindy said.  “I’m out tonight to find out more about Paul and what
happened to him.”

“What
do you want to know?” Andrea asked point blank.

“Did
he have a mistress? Was there someone he met here, or somewhere else?”

“I
already told you,” Andrea went on, “he chatted up lots of people.”

“But
was there one in particular?” Cindy sensed that Andrea knew more than she let
on.

“And
if there was,” Andrea whispered, “what’s in it for me?”

“You’d
be helping out his wife, Kendra. The police are zeroed in on her.”

“I
couldn’t care less about helping out Kendra.”

Cindy
was shocked. “You’ve something against her?”

“Not
in particular, but I’m not the kind to help out wives in distress.” She smiled
broadly then. “Honest is honest. What else could be in it for me?”

“How
much do you want?” asked Cindy.

Andrea
smiled again. She had a tough charm. “Okay, you win. Buy the drinks I had
tonight and the next one I’ll order and we’ll call it a deal.”

Cindy
took some cash out of her bag, as Andrea wrote something down on a paper
cocktail napkin. She wrote it in a sprawling, slightly shaky handwriting. Cindy
looked at the letters carefully. It was the name of a woman, Heather May. The
writing was similar to the note she’d found -- similar, but not a match.

“Who
is she?” Cindy asked.

“You’ll
find out soon enough,” she said, tossed her hair back and got up to leave.   “It’s
been a pleasure meeting you.”

“The
pleasure’s all mind,” Cindy said.

Cindy
folded the napkin and put it in her pocket book. She wanted to get going. It
was hot in here, the place was packed and the noise of the band was too loud by
now. Then, just as she was about to stand up, Cindy turned towards the doorway.
Nojo, was standing there, staring, blocking the door. Cindy stopped cold.

 Then
she walked towards the door, squeezing through the crowd. A few guys smiled at
her as she wound her way through. When she got to the entrance, Nojo was
blocking it.

“Hot
out on the town?” he muttered under his breath, as Cindy stood in front of him.

Cindy
pretended not to hear.

“Too
bad your friend isn’t here to watch over you now,” Nojo spoke louder, chewing
gum loudly.

Cindy
tried to maneuver by.

“If
there’s one thing I hate,” Nojo mumbled loudly, his voice louder, “it’s snooty
ladies who won’t give you the time of day.”

Cindy
stopped in her tracks and stared him right in the eyes. “You’re blocking my
way,” she said her voice edgy and rough, a fierce anger suddenly rising in her.

Nojo
wiped the grin off his face fast and moved to the side.

 “See
you later, doll,” he drawled ominously, as Cindy slid past him out onto into
the turbulent night.