Dirty Little Secrets (Romantic Mystery) Book 1 in the J.J. Graves Series (22 page)

This was news to me. But obviously I wasn’t as good at keeping up with the gossip as I’d thought, because I hadn’t known about Amanda’s lover either. I needed to get out more. I was missing all the good stuff.

“You people are missing the whole point,” Carlton Fisk said. It was the first time he’d spoken aloud since we’d been there, but everyone quieted down to hear what he had to say since he was almost always right about everything.

“What you should be worrying about instead of who’s sleeping with who is that there’s a killer among us. All of us, even me, were sure that George was the guilty party after Fiona was killed. It just made sense,” he said. “But with Amanda Wallace’s death being so similar we have to look at our own.”

“You really think the killer is living among us?” Jenny Negley asked. I was having a little bit of trouble looking at Jenny and not thinking of her dressed up as Cat Woman and mewling at Jack. I was a little surprised she hadn’t found some poor sap to try out her wardrobe on and take advantage of being snowed in.

“Well, what a thing to say, Carl,” Hilda said. “If it wasn’t so ridiculous it would be insulting.”

“Who else could it be if it’s not someone who knew that George would be the first one blamed? What about those footprints and tire marks in the mud?”

Personally, I was thinking that Jack should hire Carlton on as a deputy. He seemed to have a pretty good handle on things.

“Well I heard that Harvey Wallace’s cufflink was found in that hotel room that Amanda was murdered in,” Stanley Lipinski said. “Maybe it’s something in the water. Maybe men are just getting tired of their wives and getting rid of them.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Stanley Lipinski, and it’s no wonder you can’t get Wanda to marry you with that kind of nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

I could tell things were going downhill fast, and I was trying to figure out a way to escape without having to have Brody stab me with a butter knife. The sound of Brody’s voice had my mouth dropping open in surprise.

“Why don’t you all try and think of strangers you’ve seen in and out of town the last few days? It could be someone just passing through,” Brody said. “Or maybe someone from one of the other towns.”

“You mean like you?” Stanley asked. “I saw you over at the Diamond Shamrock station in Nottingham earlier this morning, and you were driving around in King George a couple of days ago.”

Wow, Stanley got around town. I guess that’s what people did when they were retired—snoop on other people.

“I’ve been everywhere in this county,” Brody said patiently. “I’ve been doing research and interviewing residents. It’s just part of my job.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Stanley. Don’t talk to him that way,” Hilda said. “This is Brody Collins, and he’s a real mystery writer. You can even get his books in the checkout line at my store.” She said it like having his books in her store was the pinnacle of Brody’s success, and he couldn’t expect to go any higher than that.
New York Times
be damned.

Hilda’s little round face pinkened, and I could practically see a light bulb go off above her head. “I know,” she said. “I have the perfect solution. I think we should get Brody to find the murderer. Wouldn’t that be great? And then he could put all of us in his book when he was through. It would only be fair on account of us helping him solve the crime. Not that Jack’s not doing a good job,” she said, looking at me apologetically, “But Brody here is an expert on these things.” She turned back to Brody with glee in her eyes. “I’ve read all your books you know. So has my daughter Cleo. Maybe you could stop by her place and sign all her copies before you leave town.”

So that’s how she was going to do it, I thought. Not nearly as clever as throwing him in the basement, but it wasn’t too shabby as far as husband-snagging plans went.

“Your sheriff is doing a good job, and I don’t want to step on his territory,” Brody said, shaking his head no in apology. “It’s a professional courtesy.”

There were several hmms of understanding, but most people looked like they didn’t care one way or the other about professional courtesy as long as it fed the gossip mill and kept them in dinner conversations for the next week. I gave Brody a
you’re on your own, you started this look
,
and kept my mouth shut.

The restaurant was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and Brody looked a little pale under his collar. “Well,” he started, “I don’t know the people in this town as well as you guys do, but it seems to me we’re looking for someone who obviously has issues with women. Both victims were killed in the same manner, and there was rape involved. In the case of the first murder, it was my understanding as well that the husband was most likely responsible, but the DNA test came back negative, so I’d say just by that information that more than likely we can cross out the husband as the main suspect in the second murder as well.”

Brody cleared his throat and looked at me with panic-stricken eyes, as if he’d just realized the downward spiral he’d begun. But he forged ahead. “Obviously the killer is trying to throw the police off by implicating other people, but he’s not worried about being caught or he wouldn’t care about his DNA being left behind.”

“So who do you think it could be?” Jenny asked.

“I don’t know, but from my experiences with other police departments and profilers I’d say the killer is probably a white male, probably no older than forty and in good shape because he killed them both in such a physical matter. He seems well organized, so he’s probably done this before.”

“We should make a list,” Harry Breur said from one of the barstools. “We should make a list of every white male in Bloody Mary under forty and see who hates women the most.” There was a surge in volume from the crowd, and I closed my eyes and prayed I was dreaming.

“I bet there’s a lot of those,” Stanley said. “What about you?” he asked Brody. “Do you hate women?”

“I love women,” Brody said, taking my hand in his and giving it a squeeze. I heard a few titters in the background and knew I’d pay him back later for bringing me back into this after I’d tried so hard to be wallpaper.

“I heard Dickey Harlowe’s having woman problems right now,” someone else said. “I heard his wife’s about to skin him good in a divorce. And I heard his secretary left on his boat with all the petty cash from his office. I bet he hates all women right now. We should go find out.”

There were several more men mentioned, including Jack, several other cops, a councilman, Lanny Wilcox because he’d apparently caught an STD from a hooker over in Fairfax, Ian Rutledge because he’d given Hilda Martin a dirty look when she’d stolen his parking place last week and Vaughn because he was gay, and apparently that meant he hated all women. I tried to mention that Vaughn didn’t hate me, but Hilda was quick to point out that no one really thought of me as a girl most of the time and probably Vaughn didn’t either. I wasn’t really sure if I should be insulted or not.

“You need to do something,” I whispered to Brody. “They’re getting all excited, and pretty soon they’re going to be knocking down doors and stringing people up. This is an action first, talk later kind of group. And we are south of the Mason-Dixon line, which means that to us things like the police and law and order are more guidelines than things you actually have to obey. When it comes down to it, everybody in this room will take matters into their own hands just on sheer principle. And Jack is going to be pissed if he gets word of this.”

“You mean
when
he gets word of this,” Brody said, shaking his head. “I swear I didn’t know it would end up this way. I was only trying to give them enough to back off for a little while.”

“They’ll never back off,” I hissed. “They’re like rabid dogs after the same bone. And when the bone’s gone they’ll turn on each other.”

“Right,” he said. “I’ll fix this.” Brody stood up on the vinyl booth seat and waved his hands in the air to get silence. The crowd quieted down, but there were a few rumbles in the group, and I could have sworn I heard somebody pump a shotgun. Bloody Mary was all about the right to bear arms.

“Excuse me, folks,” he said soft enough to where they had to stop talking and listen close. Neat trick. “No matter what my opinions are, I want you to remember that they’re only that. Opinions. You have trained police to see to this matter, and I wouldn’t want an innocent person getting hurt because you took matters into your own hands.” He made eye contact with several men who looked like they were planning to do just that.

“Bloody Mary is a small town, a safe town, and you’ve already had too many deaths. Let’s let Sheriff Lawson do his job by staying out of his way and answering whatever questions he asks. Cooperation is the best way all of us can help.

“I’ve only been here a short time, but I’ve come to know most of you at least in passing, and I’d hate to see something bad happen to anyone else, to your friends or family. This is a good town with good people. And I’d like to help you take care of it.

“I think the women need to make sure they’re not out alone, and I think you all need to watch out for your neighbors. Can I count on you to keep Bloody Mary safe?” he asked the room in general. There were several head nods and more “you bets” coming from the same group that was hostile only moments ago.

Brody was a miracle worker in my opinion, and when he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd and back out into the cold I realized watching him work had made me a little hot as well.

“Man, you should run for office,” I said, trapping him against the side of his car and kissing the daylights out of him. “We could play loyal constituent when we get back to my place,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

“Hah, very funny,” he said, laughing and kissing me back with lots of heat and even more tongue. “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” he said, shoving me inside the car. “But I’d rather play crooked Congressman than loyal constituent. Everybody knows that crooked Congressmen conduct their liaisons in the back seats of their cars.”

It sounded good to me. As far as I was concerned the sooner the better.

I decided to take things into my own hands, so to speak, so Brody wasn’t really paying attention to the road when we stopped in front of the funeral home and the Escalade skidded on a patch of ice and somehow ended up parked on the front lawn.

I laughed and Brody cursed and somehow through it all I ended up with my shirt off and Brody’s pants unzipped.

“We could go to jail for this,” Brody said on a strangled gasp. “But it might be worth it.”

“Don’t worry, I have an in with the police. Maybe they’ll let us share a cell.” I looked up just to check and make sure there wasn’t anyone peeping in the windows, but they were properly fogged over. No one could see in and we couldn’t see out. Perfect.

Things were rocking along nicely when flashes of light started appearing behind my closed eyes and the whoop, whoop, whoop of a police siren intruded on my copulatory bliss.

“Jaye, I swear to God that’d better not be you in there,” Jack called out. I could see his flashlight muted through the outside of the fogged windows.

“Crap,” I said, clamoring over the seat to pull my clothes back on. Brody was in a completely indecent state and currently laughing his ass off. “Shut up and get dressed,” I said. “This is no laughing matter.”

“You’re right,” he said, failing to hide his smile. “But this is totally going into my book.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered, trying to keep Jack from hearing what was going on inside the car. “Not unless you want to find out what it feels like to be embalmed while you’re still alive.”

“Oooh, vicious. I can tell you’re a real tough guy with your shirt on inside-out like that.”

“Jaye, I’m giving you two minutes to get inside with your clothes on so I can ask you and your boyfriend some questions,” Jack said.

“Oh man, he’s pissed,” I said as I listened to him walk over the frozen grass with crunching steps and slam the side door that led into the kitchen.

I did one more clothes evaluation on both of us and decided not to push on the two minute threat. I didn’t want to see what would happen if I was late. I also wasn’t sure this was going to be the most comfortable meeting Jack and I had ever had, but I did the admirable thing and went in the door first to face the music instead of throwing Brody under the bus. Or in this case in front of Jack’s fist.

I didn’t find Jack in the kitchen as I had expected or in my office. I was starting to think that maybe I dreamed the whole embarrassing scene, but I saw Jack’s coat thrown over the stair rail.

We finally found him in one of the small viewing parlors. The one I called the blue room because of the pale blue, printed wall-paper and dark navy indoor/outdoor carpet. It looked like any ladies parlor, I guess, with a couple of settees and chairs bunched together around a coffee table. The only difference was the platform at the back of the room where a coffin would sit. 

Jack was lying flat out on one of the settees. His feet hung over the end and a bag of ice was draped across his eyes. I felt guilty because Jack had obviously been working himself to the bone while I was romping in the back seat of an SUV.

Brody pushed me forward because I was stuck in the doorway, and I dragged myself over to one of the chairs across from Jack. I was kind of wishing I had a bag of ice too. My head was starting to pound from all the blood that was rushing to my face.