Double Shot (17 page)

When Wilson failed to react, I glanced up. “You knew about this?”

“I thought maybe,” he said. “You think anyone out there knew?"

“I have no idea,” I said honestly. “Mackenzie prides herself on all the secrets Angela shared with her. But let’s face it, the regulars at the Wade On Inn seem to know quite a bit about each other.”

I reached over to pet Snowflake, who had hopped onto Wilson’s lap. “Angela had started dating someone else, after Spencer.”

“Who’s that?” he asked. “Not Bobby Decker?”

I shrugged and told him Mackenzie had denied that particular possibility. “All she would tell Candy is she’d never guess in a million years.”

Wilson suggested we keep working on it and surprised me when he squeezed my shoulder. With affection this time. “You guys are doing great.”

I tilted my head back. “Why, Captain Rye, are you actually thanking me?”

“Maybe.” He grinned and almost kissed me before I remembered the as yet unresolved Tiffany Sass issue. I sat up, and he cleared his throat.

“What about Karen?” he asked. “She get anything?”

“Henry Jack thinks Bobby’s the murderer.”

“Because of this supposed fling with Angela?”

Actually it was a lot more complicated than that. I tried to remember exactly what Karen had told me. “Henry insists Bobby actually hated Angela,” I said, “since she was helping Elsa avoid bankruptcy. Remember the bizarre dude ranch dream? If Elsa had gone under, Bobby was hoping to buy the place cheap.” I shook my head. “Believe it or not, Bobby the wannabe cowboy can’t even ride a horse. That’s according to Henry anyway.”

“So Decker either loved Angela or hated Angela, depending on who you ask.” Wilson had started rubbing the back of my neck, and I was getting very, very drowsy.

“Melissa certainly believes Bobby and Angela were together,” I said, forcing myself to concentrate. “We discussed everyone’s love life over a piece of coconut cream pie.”

“Keep eating at Hastie’s and you’ll get fat.”

“Speaking of fat, where were you and Tiffany last night?”

He grinned. “Tiffany is not fat.”

“Unfortunately.”

“It’s killing you isn’t it, Jessie?”

“Just answer the damn question. I’m willing to believe you were at Hastie’s tonight, but that still leaves last night unaccounted for.”

“We went in search of the guy who killed Lester Quinn—name’s Andre Stogner.”

“He’s not in prison?” I asked.

“Nope. He got out on parole last month. And he’s back in town.”

I thought fast. Could the guy who had meant to kill Fritz Lupo years earlier still hold a grudge?

I asked Wilson.

“That was Sass’s theory,” he said. “So we went looking for Stogner last night. About the only bar in Clarence we didn’t hit was the Wade On Inn itself.”

The thought of my beau bar-hopping with the lovely Ms. Sass put a knot in my stomach, but I listened anyway as he explained their escapades. “We finally found Stogner at The Squeaky Cricket,” he said. “He swore up and down he’d never set foot in the Wade On Inn again, and had no desire to see Fritz Lupo. He was shocked when I told him Lupo’s dead.”

Wilson looked at me. “It wasn’t an act, Jessie. Tiffany’s checked out his alibis for last week. He’s not the guy.”

“This was all about Angela Hernandez,” I said with newfound certainty. “It has something to do with a weird love triangle.” I was devising my theory as I spoke. “Fritz was an afterthought.”

“But remember Lupo was teaching her the tricks of his trade. And they were planning a road trip together. And that thousand dollars he supposedly won his last night is still missing.”

“Yes, but Angela was killed first,” I argued.

“Just because the last murder investigation you got yourself involved in had a jealousy theme, doesn’t mean they all do.”

When Wilson began a riveting dissertation about Fritz Lupo’s vice-infested existence, I stood up and stretched. I was too tired to argue.

“How much did you win tonight?” he asked as we walked downstairs.

“Not nearly enough.” I unlocked my door, and Snowflake padded inside. “Mother distracted me.”

I gave Wilson a quick kiss and shut the door. Frankly, I was relieved I didn’t have to decide whether or not to invite him in. My mother was sleeping in my bed, after all.

“Which means we’re sleeping on the couch,” I whispered to Snowflake.

We found some sheets and a blanket in the closet and tiptoed around in the bathroom. I had my pajamas on and my teeth brushed before I realized Mother was awake.

She sat up suddenly as I pulled a couple of pillows from the bed. “Wilson Rye is the most darling man I have ever met,” she informed me and laid back down. “Other than your father, of course.”

Chapter 20

Sarina Blyss paced the dirt floor of her jail cell. The poor lady felt thoroughly distressed and utterly forsaken, but Sarina was a stalwart soul. Courage, she scolded herself, and reached for her golden necklace. But of course, her neck was bare.

A gasp of despair seized her, but she quickly recovered and forced herself to think pleasant thoughts. For instance, that loathsome Constable had finally left her alone. She could hear his occasional grunts from somewhere down the long, dark hallway, but she was rid of him. At least for the moment.

But hark! He was approaching! Sarina trembled at the sound of his heavy footsteps. Imagine her shock when he strutted up to her cell and grunted that someone wanted to see her. She rushed to the bars, ever so hopeful her brother Norwood had arrived to put an end to her unjust imprisonment.

Sarina blinked her emerald green eyes and strained to identify the figure rushing down the passageway. But, no. The visitor was much taller than Norwood. Could it be? Could it possibly be?

Yes! No sooner did she recognize him than her handsome stranger was standing before her, demanding entry to her cell. Constable Klodfelder stubbornly refused, but the gentleman insisted the girl needed counsel, and finally Klodfelder obeyed. He unlocked the door and lumbered away.

Sarina rushed forward to greet the handsome stranger, and he swept her off her feet in an embrace that banished all her fears. Thus, in hushed tones they finally introduced themselves.

Trey—his name was Trey!—listened ever so intently as she explained her plight. Indeed, he asked ever so many clever questions. When the Duke—he was a duke!—asked if she could prove her identity, Sarina furrowed her brow.

The old gardener knew her from the day she was born. Oh, but Agnes had fired Mr. Shropshire long ago. Alas, Agnes had dismissed all of the hired help, including the real Daisy O’Dell, when she decided to make poor Sarina the sole servant of the Blyss household.

Sarina sighed in dismay, and Trey’s grateful eyes landed spellbound on her nubile bosom.

***

The would-be lovers were trying to stay focused on the crisis at hand, wracking their not-too-bright brains for ways to prove Sarina’s true identity, when Puddles arrived. Oh, my Lord, Puddles. I had forgotten all about my promise to babysit. Candy had to go to work, and Peter Harrison had a doctor’s appointment.

I made a hasty apology to Snowflake, who had already settled herself on top of the refrigerator, and opened the door. I put an index finger to my lips, but it was too late. Puddles swept inside, barked profusely at who knows what, and immediately found my bed and my mother.

“Who are you, little guy?” I heard her ask between giggles.

I smiled at Candy. “I do believe she’s about to find out.”

“I can’t stay long, Jessie.” She handed me a leash and a sack of toys and called a “Good morning” toward the bedroom.

“Is that you, Candy?” Mother came around the corner, holding a subdued, and dare I say, calm Puddles under her arm. “I do apologize for not saying hello last night. But we didn’t want to blow our cover, did we?”

Candy stepped inside to give the real Tessie a hug, and they spent a moment agreeing on how much “fun” the Wade On Inn was. Mother seemed hopeful for a more lengthy discussion, but Candy had to leave. She promised us Puddles had just piddled and even claimed he was almost housebroken.

***

I turned to my mother the moment Candy left. “Shall we hazard a guess what ‘almost housebroken’ might mean?”

She giggled again. “It does sound a little dangerous, doesn’t it?”

I glanced apprehensively at Puddles, but the puppy was now sitting quietly at my mother’s feet, licking her toes. “I’ll make some fresh coffee,” I said. “You’re getting breakfast in bed.”

“Bagels?” Mother asked hopefully. I shooed her away, and she and Puddles made their way back to the bedroom.

Snowflake and I listened to them cooing at each other while I puttered around in the kitchen. Eventually the cat felt confident enough to hop down from her perch.

“Ooh!” Mother was delighted when I approached the bed with our breakfast tray. But I almost dropped the whole thing when I beheld the scene before me. Tessie was propped up on pillows, about as I expected. But my cat and Puddles were curled up together at her feet—Snowflake, pure white and Puddles, pure black. It was pretty darn cute.

I flinched when Puddles lifted his head to lick Snowflake’s nose, and almost dropped the tray again when the cat actually purred.

“You’re a miracle worker,” I said as I settled myself on Wilson’s side of the bed.

Wilson’s side of the bed? Perhaps I was getting a bit too accustomed to Wilson Rye’s company.

Mother was studying me. “Something’s wrong, Jessie?” Actually, it was more of a statement than a question. She continued staring deep into my soul. “You’re upset with Wilson,” she concluded.

I pointed to the pets and repeated the miracle worker observation, but Mother was not to be distracted. She informed me there is no other woman, and I spilled my coffee.

“How do you do that?” I jumped up to get some paper towels.

“Do what?”

“You know what,” I called from the kitchen. I returned to the bedroom and sopped up the mess. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

“Intuition, I suppose.” She poured me a fresh cup from the thermos, and I sat back down. “You think Wilson’s interested in another girl?”

“Girl’s a good way to put it. Her name’s Tiffany Sass.”

“Oh, dear. She sounds like she belongs in one of your books.”

I groaned out loud.

“Tiffany works with Wilson, does she?”

I groaned again and then told my mother everything—from the basics of Tiffany’s perfectly perky figure, to the pool table scene at The Stone Fountain, to the fact that she and Wilson seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time together.

“Don’t be scandalized,” I concluded. “But I am quite sure the girl—and I do mean girl—would jump into Wilson’s bed at a moment’s notice.”

“No, Jessie.”

“Trust me, Mother. You haven’t met her.”

“Well now, that’s true. But I do know your beau, and Wilson would never do anything to hurt you.” She pointed her bagel at me. “That’s his shirt?”

I looked down and cringed. I was dressed in my usual writing attire, one of Wilson’s discarded dress shirts and a pair of cut-offs. Before Wilson, I had worn Ian’s old clothes. But the day after we started sleeping together, Wilson had given me a bunch of his own shirts and suggested it was time to get rid of the others.

“How long have you been wearing Wilson’s clothes?” my mother asked me.

“Since we started,” I hesitated, “keeping company. I guess it bothered him to see me in Ian’s shirts.”

“Of course it did. The man adores you.”

“Then why is he spending so much time with Tiffany La-Dee-Doo-Da Sass?” I asked in my most obstinate voice.

“Well, let’s see.” Mother pursed her lips at me. “Because they work together?”

I argued that this was no excuse, but she would hear none of it. “I know a thing or two about faithfulness,” she said. “Surely you remember how many nights your father was away when you were little?”

“Daddy never cheated on you.”

“I know that, Jessie. But your father was a pool shark. Think about the places he spent his nights.” She offered me one of her stern, motherly looks. “Leon Hewitt had ample opportunity to be unfaithful.”

“Daddy never cheated on you,” I insisted again. “He loved you way too much.”

“Exactly.” She relaxed and smiled. “Just like Wilson loves you.”

I told her she was giving me a headache and changed the subject. I thanked her again for her work the previous day, but Mother pooh-poohed her efforts.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” she said. “Surely Doreen’s affair with Harmon Abernathy had nothing to do with those dreadful murders?”

“But at least my curiosity is satisfied.” I spread some cream cheese on the remaining bagel and handed Tessie half. “And ruling out the old ladies does help. Trust me, Tiffany Sass is way too young to infiltrate The Cotswald Estates like you did.”

I glanced sideways at my mother and thought about her flawless intuition. “So,” I asked, “did you notice anything odd last night? Did anyone at the Wade On Inn catch your attention?”

“Spencer,” she said without hesitating.

“What about him?”

“I don’t trust him, do I?”

“His wife must not either,” I said. “He had an affair with the woman who got killed, and supposedly with Melissa.”

“Melissa and Spencer? I don’t think so.”

“Neither do I. But why would she lie about it?”

“I should say Melissa lies quite a bit. She likes her little fantasies. She’s not a very good pool player, is she?”

“She’s pathetic. But you have to give her credit for trying.” I sipped my coffee. “Okay, so who else?”

“What’s that?”

I reminded my mother she was providing me with the benefits of her stellar intuition. “Who else did you notice last night?”

“How about Kevin?” she asked.

“Kevin Cooper?” I was a bit surprised. “But he’s so quiet.”

“Because he’s hiding something.”

Like I said—flawless intuition. “Kevin’s an undercover cop,” I explained. “He’s one of the people Wilson has protecting me out there.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

I squinted and thought back. Had Wilson ever actually confirmed Kevin Cooper is a cop?