Murder Has a Sweet Tooth (23 page)

AFTER AN EVENING AS EXCITING AS THE ONE I’D
just had, believe me when I say all I wanted to do was go home, jump into bed, and pull the covers over my head. Unfortunately, as often happens when I’m in the middle of an investigation, reality tends to intrude. What with visiting Sonny and following Celia, Glynis, and Beth, and nearly getting roasted to death, I hadn’t put in nearly enough hours at Bellywasher’s that week, and as much as I didn’t want to think about it, I knew what that meant: Invoices were piling up on my desk like snow-drifts in Alaska. Bank deposits hadn’t been made, and that meant we were losing out on interest. As little as it was, we needed every penny. If I didn’t do something and do it fast, the well-oiled machinery of the business side of the restaurant was going to grind to a halt, and soon.

I might not feel like tackling the Bellywasher’s checkbook, but never let it be said that Annie Capshaw is not nose-to-the-grindstone.

I left Celia’s and by the time I got back to Old Town Alexandria, it was already late. Back in colonial times and even in the Civil War era, Old Town was a bustling Potomac port, just on the other side of the river from Washington, D.C. These days, its quaint cobblestone streets are lined with shops and restaurants and the entire town is a haven for tourists and weekend partiers. The area is an ideal spot for a pub like Jim’s. But there’s a downside to its popularity, too. Even on the best of days, parking is difficult. On Friday nights, it’s a nightmare. In living color. And 3-D. I tried to be patient as I circled the block three times, but let’s face it, being locked in a sauna and then having someone tell you that another someone wants to kill you . . . well, that tends to take the starch out of even the most plucky of detectives. By the time my virtue was rewarded and I found a parking space and dragged myself around the block and down the street to Bellywasher’s, I didn’t even care that I had to step aside and wait for a large party to leave the restaurant. Large parties mean big business. That lifted my spirits, sure enough. Besides, standing and waiting gave me a chance to rest, at least for a bit.

No sooner was I inside the restaurant, though, than every trace of fatigue disappeared. Jim was standing behind the bar. Eve and Tyler were there, too, and so was—

“Alex!” I couldn’t cross the room and get over to the bar fast enough. Even as I practically tripped over my own feet, I caught Alex in an enormous bear hug. Just to be sure he was real and not some figment of my steamed-in-the-sauna imagination, I pulled myself out of his arms and gave him a careful look, then I hugged him again. “This is wonderful!” I didn’t need to tell Jim and Eve. They were watching and smiling up a storm. I slipped onto the bar stool next to Alex’s. “OK, somebody tell me what’s going on. You didn’t escape from jail or anything, did you? Did somebody smuggle you a file inside a cake?”

I was going for funny, but of course Tyler didn’t appreciate the joke. He’s that kind of cop. He was at the end of the bar and Eve was standing next to him with her hand on his shoulder. When someone called her over to ask for clarification about one of the menu items, she got to work and Tyler explained what was going on.

“You’ll be happy to know that Alex is out on bail,” he said. “With any luck . . .” He measured what he was going to say against the temptation of saying too much. Then, in a very un-Tyler-like moment that pretty much proved that, like the rest of us, he was relieved to have Alex back where he belonged, Tyler threw caution to the wind. “With any luck, all the charges against him are going to be dropped.”

My breath caught behind the ball of mixed disbelief and excitement in my throat. I pressed a hand to my heart. “That’s fabulous!” With one hand, I patted Alex’s shoulder. With my other hand, I reached across the bar, grabbed onto Jim’s, and gave it a squeeze. “Explain. Somebody tell me what happened. Tyler, did you guys finally find the real killer?”

“No such luck.” Tyler’s words cast a pall over the celebration. He grimaced. Jim frowned. Alex was deep in thought. He had a frothy dark beer in front of him, and he sipped it and licked the foam from his lips.

“Nectar of the gods!” Alex crooned, and as quickly as the mood darkened, it brightened again, and we all laughed. Beer was such a simple pleasure, and it was such a joy to watch Alex savor it! “They finally know I didn’t do it, Annie,” he said. “The medical examiner says the murderer was right-handed.”

I would have slapped my forehead if Jim hadn’t put a glass of white wine in front of me and if I didn’t already have it in my hand. I looked to Tyler for confirmation. “The wounds—”

“Definitely made by a right-handed person, and one who’s a whole lot shorter than Alex. We couldn’t know for sure, of course, until the medical examiner’s final report was in. The killer—”

“After Alex passed out, the killer put the knife in Alex’s hand to implicate him, but he put it in his right hand!” I was so happy Tyler didn’t point out that I was wrong, tears sprang to my eyes. “The killer couldn’t possibly have known Alex was a leftie. So we know Alex was framed.”

Far be it from Tyler to let anybody get too carried away. Especially when that anybody was me. “We’re pretty sure,” he said, in a way that told me
pretty sure
didn’t mean
defi nitely
and I’d better not forget it. “But Alex isn’t out of the woods yet. We still have some details to work out. For instance . . .” He spun his bar stool so that he was looking at Alex head-on, and slipped into interrogator mode so quickly and effortlessly, it was uncanny. I knew he wasn’t being hard-assed just to cause trouble. Tyler knew what kind of questioning Alex had been through, and what he was in for in the coming weeks. He was just trying to get Alex ready for what was to come.

“How about those threats you made?” Tyler asked. “That waitress . . .” Even though Tyler wasn’t directly involved in the case, it was obvious he had an interest in the outcome. He pulled his leather-covered notebook out of his pocket, flipped through the pages, and read over his notes. “The waitress at Swallows is named Jennifer. She says she heard you say that you wanted Vickie dead.”

It was clear Alex had spent the long, dull hours in jail trying to work through this problem. It was just as clear that no matter how hard he tried, he was no closer to finding a solution now than he had been then. He scraped a hand back and forth across his chin. “I never would’a threatened Vickie,” he said. “You all know that. I liked Vickie. And I’d never speak like that to a woman. It’s disrespectful. I never said I wanted Vickie dead. If I did, I would have been out of my head.”

This time, I didn’t let the wineglass stop me. I set it down and slapped my hand against the bar. “That’s it, of course!” Even before I explained, Tyler had already caught on. I had a funny feeling that if Derek Harold had been within earshot, Tyler would have read him the riot act about being a lead detective on a case and missing something so obvious.

It took Jim and Alex a little longer to get it. But then, they’re the ones with the accents that are nearly impenetrable, especially to us Americans. To Jim and Alex’s ears, they didn’t have an accent at all.

“Dead and head.” I stared at Alex. “Say the words again.”

“Dead. Head.” That’s what he said, only it came out sounding more like
daid
and
haid
.

Jim got it. I could tell by the sudden gleam in his eyes. Alex needed a little more help, and I gave it to him. “So Jennifer heard you say something about Vickie being out of her head—”

“Aye. That’s right.” Alex’s eyebrows veed. “That’s what I told her when she started acting daft. I said she was out of her head.”

“And if Vickie hadn’t been murdered, that would have been the end of that. Jennifer never even would have remembered the conversation. But Vickie was murdered, and because she waited on you two, people started questioning Jennifer. And by then, of course, she wasn’t just thinking of a man and a woman at a table together in the restaurant. She knew you’d been arrested. Whether she was aware of it or not, she was thinking of Vickie as the victim and you as the murderer. So just naturally—”

“She thought she heard
dead
instead of
head.
To her ears, the words sounded alike. You Americans need more practice in the proper way of speaking.” Jim grinned. “It makes great sense in a mixed-up sort of way.”

“Happens all the time with witnesses.” Tyler had a beer in front of him, too, and he took a drink.

Alex did, too. “Well, I’ve certainly learned my lesson,” he said. “From this moment forward until the day I get back on the plane to go home again, I’m not leaving your house, Jim. I’m going to work on that—”

In all the excitement of the investigation, I’d forgotten about the renovations on the house. Too bad I remembered now and was so eager to hear more, I leaned too far forward and almost fell off my bar stool. Otherwise, Alex might have spilled the beans.

“Oh, no!” Laughing, Jim reached across the bar, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me back in place.

“But I could drive Alex home tonight. And if he needed anything, I could take it over to him. That way he wouldn’t have to leave the house.” It was worth a try.

Jim wasn’t buying it. “I’ve given my word that I will keep an eye on Alex. And you . . .” He had a beer, too, and he raised it in a gesture that was more a friendly warning than a toast. “You will mind your own business. Which might include murder, but definitely does not include snooping around the house.”

I may have grumbled. Like anyone could blame me? It was hard to stay in a good mood when even Tyler bought into the whole Annie-can’t-see-the-house-before-the-wedding scenario.

“I’d take you on a grand tour of that house of Jim’s,” Tyler grumbled, “if it would help us solve our case.”

It was all the reminder we needed that there was a lot to do and a long way to go before Alex could put the experience behind him.

I drummed my fingers against the bar. “Beth thinks Edward did it,” I told Tyler. “But Edward has an alibi.”

“Detective Harold thinks Alex did it,” Tyler added. “But forensic evidence seems to eliminate him.”

I thought and drummed, drummed and thought. I hadn’t had a chance to update Tyler on the latest news so I took the opportunity to catch him up. Since we’d talked on the phone the day after Eve, Norman, and I followed the women, he knew they were all stepping out on their husbands, but what Tyler didn’t know was everything I’d just found out at the wine tasting that evening.

“Beth was angry at Vickie,” I explained, leaning across the bar so that I could keep the information private. “A couple weeks ago, Beth spent the night with some guy she met at Preston’s Colonial House, and Vickie was supposed to cover for her. Vickie didn’t.” I listened to my own words and my stomach soured. “To get even, Beth told Edward Monroe about Vickie and Alex.”

“And you just said it yourself,” Tyler reminded me. “Edward Monroe has an alibi. You just said something else, too, Annie. You just said Beth was mad at Vickie.”

“Sure she was. But that can’t possibly mean anything.” Could it?

The idea bounced around my brain and when it was done in there, it hit my toes and settled in my stomach, souring it. I gulped. “You don’t suppose—”

But I knew Tyler did, because he sat up like a shot. “Do we know where Beth was the night Vickie was killed?”

“Probably back at Preston’s with Jack.” Even though Tyler hadn’t come out and said it, I sat back, distancing myself from what he was thinking. “Beth isn’t the type.”

In spite of my protests, Tyler was all over the theory. “She’s shorter than Alex, right?”

I couldn’t deny this.

“Is she right-handed?”

I had to think hard, but I remembered watching Beth at the wine tastings, and I had to admit she was.

“It’s worth pursuing, Annie,” Tyler told me. He slipped off the bar stool. “You may not like it—”

“I don’t.” I shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. But she’s a mom. Just like Vickie was. And she was a friend of Vickie’s. Sure, she was mad at Vickie for nearly blowing her cover the night she spent with Jack, but as it turned out, her husband never found out she was fooling around, anyway. So she might have been annoyed at Vickie, but—”

“How do you know her husband never found out?” Tyler pinned me with a look.

And all I could do was shrug again. “Beth said—”

“And you believe her?”

I wanted to. Don’t ask me why. When it comes to investigations, I’m usually all about following the clues no matter where they lead. And I was as eager as anyone to get Alex completely off the hook and clear his name. More eager than most, since I had Jim to think about and I knew Jim wouldn’t rest until even the slightest hint of scandal was removed from Alex’s name. Sure, we knew now that Alex had been set up, but until the real killer was found, there would always be that doubt, always that whiff of memory that would remind people that Alex had once been involved with a murder investigation. Had he been exonerated? Had he gotten off on a technicality? Most people wouldn’t remember. They’d only remember that he was involved.