Murder Most Persuasive (8 page)

Sam cocked an eyebrow at me. “You seem jaded.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgment. “Another by-product of the all-girl Catholic school experience.”

Sam started to say something when his attention was caught by someone behind my left shoulder. From his frankly appraising expression, it was an attractive someone.

“Who are you gaping at?” I asked, turning to scan the room. “Need I remind you that you are dating a lovely girl named Amanda?” While there were several attractive women in the bar, I instinctively knew which woman held his attention. She wore a backless tangerine dress that hugged every one of her curves. Her shapely tanned legs were supported by four-inch pumps, the kind with that sexy ankle strap. Her glossy black hair hung in heavy waves down her Nautilus-defined back. I knew it was a Nautilus-defined back, because I knew the owner of the back. It was none other than my cousin Reggie.

“That’s my cousin Reggie,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? I can see the resemblance,” said Sam with false politeness. I laughed outright at the absurdity of the idea. “Who’s that with her?” he asked. “Her husband?”

“No, she’s not married. At least she’s not currently married. That’s a status that frequently changes with her, though.” I craned to get a better look at the man on whose brawny arm Reggie now hung. He was tall, tan, and muscular. His dark hair was cut short, as was his beard. He was also no one I’d ever seen before. However, from the way they were talking, this did not appear to be a casual first meeting at a bar. His head was bent down low to hers. From their somber expressions, their conversation appeared anything but casual. My cell phone went off just then, preventing me from catching Reggie’s eye and waving hello. It was Peter. I turned my body toward the bar and pressed the phone against my ear so I could hear better.

“Hey, there. Where are you?” he said.

“I’m out having a drink. Then I’m going to head over to Ann’s. You wouldn’t believe the day I had. Dickey took over the day with another one of his harebrained ideas.”

“You have my sympathies. Who are you out with?”

“Sam. So get this—Dickey wants us to write a fluff piece each month of some local bigwig. Guess who he picked! Uncle Marty, that’s who! He’s got this really stupid acronym for it, too. He’s calling it Significant Humans in Town. So it’s basically SHIT.”

There was the briefest pause before he answered. “Sounds pretty dumb. Well, I don’t want to hold you up. I just thought I’d call and say hi. I’ve got to run back into a meeting. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to you later then. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said, but he said it kind of fast. I hung up wondering if Peter could actually be upset that I was out with Sam. I pushed the idea away, dismissing it as silly. Peter knew we were just friends; after all, Sam was the guy I went with to see those chick flicks that Peter couldn’t stomach. Looking back up for Reggie, I saw that both she and her date had left. The weird thing was, she would have had to walk right past me to get out. Had she not wanted to interrupt my phone conversation with Sam, or had she simply not wanted to be seen? Reggie had never been unfriendly toward me before, leaving me to wonder if her avoidance had more to do with the man than with me. God, I hoped he wasn’t married.

*   *   *

Traffic being what it was, it took me almost an hour to get to Uncle Marty’s house. Ann answered my knock almost instantly. “How are you doing?” I asked as I stepped into the foyer. She was wearing black tailored pants and a lightweight lavender cashmere sweater. This color normally looked great on her. However, today it would take more than a complementary hue from her color palette to liven up her ghostly complexion.

She shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess. I got a message that the detective in charge of the case will be here around seven thirty. I called Reggie and Frances and told them everything. They said they’d be here to talk to him.”

“I actually just saw Reggie, but I don’t think she saw me,” I said. “How did she take the news?”

Ann shook her head. “I couldn’t tell, to be honest. She got very quiet. I’ll have a better idea once I see her.”

I glanced at my watch; it was a quarter to seven.

“Come on,” said Ann, “help me get the living room ready. I figured we could all sit in there.”

Within minutes, Ann and I had made what little adjustments were necessary. We brought in a few extra chairs and arranged them around the coffee table. Once done, Ann turned to me and said, “Do you think I should put out cheese and crackers or anything?”

I thought about it. “I don’t think so. A, we want this over as quickly as possible; no need to encourage the police to linger; B, we don’t want to appear like we’re not taking this seriously; and C, this isn’t a social meeting.”

“Agreed,” she said. “God, I could use a drink, but I doubt that’s a good idea. I should have my wits about me for this.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, giving her arm a friendly squeeze. “Once the police leave, I’ll take you out and buy you all the drinks you want.”

“Deal,” she said with a faint smile.

There was a brief knock on the door before it swung open. It was Reggie. There was nary a hint of distress on her perfectly made-up face. Looking calm and cool, she was wearing the same tangerine dress I saw her in earlier. The only difference was that she had pulled her hair back into a smooth, tight bun. She even made that look sexy.

Scarlett ran excitedly to the door. However, seeing that it was Reggie, she turned and walked away. Scarlett did not care for Reggie. Inasmuch as Reggie sneered when she saw the little dog, I assumed that the feeling was mutual. After a perfunctory greeting to me and Ann, Reggie said, “So I take it Bonnie went on her silly spa retreat anyway?”

“Yes,” said Ann. “I drove her to the airport this morning. She … she didn’t seem overly concerned about any of this.”

Reggie scoffed. “She wouldn’t be overly concerned if the house fell down around her, just so long as it didn’t interfere with her five o’clock martini. Is Frances here yet?”

“No,” said Ann, “but I expect her any minute. I thought we could use the living room for when the police come.”

Reggie nodded. “Right. Well, I may as well make myself comfortable. Is there any wine in the fridge, Ann?”

“Uh, yes, there’s some Chardonnay. Do you really think it’s a good idea to have a drink, though?”

“Why in the name of God shouldn’t I have a drink? Hell, if there was ever a time when one
was
warranted, I think it would be when your ex-fiancé turns up dead and buried under the family pool.”

“I have to say, I think that’s a fair point,” I said.

“Exactly,” Reggie said, nodding in my direction. Without a word, Ann turned in the direction of the kitchen, presumably to get Reggie her wine.

“Lord,” said Reggie, “whatever are the police going to think? You know they’re going to think one of us did it.”

“Not necessarily,” I said, more out of politeness than any real conviction.

“Well, if they don’t, then they have no imagination.” She turned on her heel and glided into the living room. With almost feline grace, she made herself comfortable on the couch.

A confident knock sounded on the door, and it opened. It was Frances and Scott. Frances was wearing one of her standard A-line tweed skirts with a red blouse. Scott was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Unlike Reggie, neither presented a calm façade. “Dear God,” said Frances when she saw me, her voice shrill, “this is just like a nightmare! Who would have ever believed that all these years Michael was actually
dead
!” Next to her, Scott did not speak. He stood awkwardly with his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, his body tense. “Is Reggie here?” Frances asked.

I nodded and gestured to the living room.

“Reggie, I just can’t believe this,” said Frances, rushing over to her sister. “How are
you
? Are you all right?”

Reggie sighed with annoyance. “Of course, I’m all right, Frances. Please don’t be melodramatic. We already have enough drama as it is. Besides, you seem to forget,
I
broke it off with
him
. It’s not as if he left behind some lovesick pale copy of the girl he loved. Besides, that was
eight
years and
three
marriages ago.”

“Yes, but he’s dead!” Frances said. “You can’t be happy that he’s dead!”

Reggie rolled her eyes in disgust. “Frances, I didn’t say I was
happy
that he was dead. I’m just not crying into my hankie. There’s a difference.”

Frances looked unconvinced but said no more. There was a loud, officious knock on the door, immediately followed by a collective intake of breath around me. The police, it would seem, were here. Frances and Reggie looked at me, while Scott stared at the floor. Apparently I had just been appointed official greeter.

I am by no means someone my friends would describe as being calm under pressure, but I was still taken aback at the surge of adrenaline that swiftly raced through my veins. With shaking hands, I grabbed the cut-glass doorknob and swung open the door.

Before me stood one woman and one man. The former was in a crisp, blue uniform, her light blond hair tucked underneath her hat. I couldn’t tell you much else about her other than the fact that she had blue eyes and a trim figure, because my real focus was on the second person.

He hadn’t changed much. No gray marred his thick, dark hair. From the way his Burberry overcoat clung to his broad shoulders, he appeared to be as lean and fit as ever. Seeing me, a flash of recognition appeared in his blue-green eyes, but no welcoming smile accompanied it.

Before I could speak, I heard Ann approaching from behind. Turning, I saw her just as she saw him. The color drained from her face and her grip on the glass of wine tightened, turning her knuckles white.

With a strained whisper, she got out his name. “Joe!”

CHAPTER 7

Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.

—
EMMA

J
OE’S RESPONSE
to hearing Ann utter his name was a brief tightening of the muscles in his jaw. With an overly polite nod in her direction, he said, “Actually, it’s Detective Muldoon now.”

Ouch. It was clear that even after all these years, Joe hadn’t forgiven Ann. I glanced at her to see how she was taking all this. From the stricken look on her face, I deduced not very well. Ann blinked and pressed her lips together tightly, her face etched in silent misery.

I stuck out my hand, “Hello, Joe … er … Detective Muldoon. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”

“Elizabeth Parker,” Joe said, briefly taking my hand in his and giving it a formal shake. “Of course, I remember you.” Turning to the officer next to him, he said, “This is Sergeant Erica Beal.”

I nodded at the sergeant. Scarlett gave a happy bark and jumped up and began to paw at Joe’s leg. He looked down at her in confusion. “Scarlett, go away,” I said, nudging the dog away. Scarlett ignored me and began to lick Joe’s pant leg. I bent over and scooped up the dog while she squirmed in protest. “Scarlett, you are no lady,” I said before looking back to Joe. “Well, the family is all here.” I gestured toward the living room. “I’ll show you in.” Leading them into the room, I wondered what Reggie’s and Frances’s reactions to seeing Joe again after all these years would be.

“Everyone,” I said, “this is Sergeant Beal and Detective Muldoon.”

Reggie glanced up, her expression calm. However, seeing Joe, her eyes quickly darted to where Ann still stood in the foyer. When she returned her attention to Joe, there was a wary expression in her eyes. With the briefest nod of her head, she said, “Detective Muldoon. Sergeant Beal.”

Frances was less composed. “Joe? Is that really you? Why, you’ve hardly changed a bit! You’re a detective now?”

“As you see,” he said.

Scott moved toward him, his hand outstretched. “Joe, it’s good to see you again.”

Joe shook the proffered hand. Beside him, Sergeant Beal’s face was unreadable. She didn’t seem particularly surprised to find that her detective was on such familiar terms with the family. I wondered just how much Joe had told her.

“I’m sorry to have to disturb you,” he said now, “especially so soon after your father’s funeral.” He paused. “I was sorry to hear of his passing. You have my condolences.”

I have to admit, hearing Joe say that aroused my darkest forebodings. Joe
hated
Uncle Marty. And to be fair, it wasn’t without reason. Uncle Marty did everything he could to make Joe feel unwelcome and unworthy to be a member of the Reynolds family. But all those years ago Joe had an open face that was easy to read. However, the way Joe offered his condolences just now, you would have thought that he really had liked Uncle Marty. It didn’t bode well, in my humble opinion.

Seeing Ann still standing in the foyer helplessly clutching Reggie’s glass of wine, I said, “Let me go get some coffee for everyone.” I hurried out, still clutching Scarlett in one hand, and firmly grabbed Ann by the elbow with the other and steered her to the kitchen.

“It’s Joe!” she said numbly. “Jesus, I can’t believe this. After all these years, he’s here. In this house. Oh, my God.” Frantically running her hands through her hair, she tried to see her reflection in the chrome toaster. “I look like shit!” she wailed.

“Would you put the toaster down? You do not look like shit,” I said, as I deposited Scarlett on the floor and then yanked open cupboards in search of the coffee. As I said this, though, I realized that to a certain extent Ann’s looks had suffered somewhat since her breakup with Joe. For lack of a better phrase, she’d lost her glow. When Joe left, a part of Ann had faded away. As no other man had ever come close to Joe in her estimation, the glow had never returned. However, this obviously wasn’t the time to address that. “Pull yourself together. Where the hell is the coffee?” I asked.

“Top shelf, left,” she said automatically. “Did you see the way he looked at me? Like he was looking
through
me or something.”