Toasting Up Trouble (A Dinner Club Mystery) (9 page)

They all looked at J.J. and waited.

She gave herself a few moments to organize her thoughts.
“Here goes. I’ve hooked up with a personal trainer at High Time Fitness Center because she’s the mistress of the deceased. Some of you may know some of this already.” She glanced at each of them quickly before proceeding.

“Then there’s this private eye who was following me because he thought I might be the mistress.” She heard Connor choke on his wine.

“Of course, I’m not and he knows that now. But he keeps getting in the way, and even though he could have alibied me for the murder, he sort of left me dangling in the suspicions, so to speak.” She avoided looking at Connor. “That’s about where it’s at right now. Except that I’m not guilty, Evan’s not guilty, and I don’t believe Rocco is, either.”

“Do you think the mistress did it and if not, what’s next?”

“I haven’t decided about her yet, and even so, we need more suspects anyway. The police have got to know there are many more people out there who hated the man and could have done the deed. We just have to figure out who they all are.”

“And that, my friends,” Alison said as she walked back to her chair, “is a job for the detectives.”

By Monday afternoon, J.J. felt back in charge of her life. No surprise calls from the police. No Ty Devine crossing her path. She was still getting e-mails from her dinner cohorts with kudos for her Sunday meal. The only negativity in her life came from her three-times-a week visit to the health club that she’d committed to. Today had been only the first day, and not only had she learned nothing about Candy Fleetwood’s relationship with Antonio Marcotti, but she’d also developed a slight tilt to the left, as Skye pointed out when she entered their office later that morning.

“Are you sure this is what you want to be doing to your body?” Skye grabbed the latte that J.J. held out to her and took an appreciative sip. “Hmm. This is what works for my body. So, tell me: is the torture worth the payback in info?”

J.J. sat down gingerly in her chair and took a sip of her own latte. She could feel its restorative effects as it burned its way down her throat. She blew on it, then took a sip. “It’s
really hard to get any casual conversation in when Candy is timing me and checking the the amount of weights I’m lifting all the time. I think I’ll give it the week, and if no opportunity arises, I’ll ask her to meet me for coffee—to talk about my workout plan, of course.”

“If you last that long.”

“There is that.” She set her latte on the desk and turned on her computer. Skye took an incoming call and was in the middle of a conversation when J.J. let out a yelp. Skye eyed her and raised her eyebrows.

J.J. stared at her computer screen and kept shaking her head and groaning. Finally, Skye hung up and scurried across the room to read over J.J.’s shoulder.

“What the frig does that mean?” Skye demanded, pointing at the offending e-mail.

“I have no idea,” J.J. managed to squeak out. “How could another event planner come up with exactly the same plans for Olivia Barker’s retirement party? That’s just not possible.”

“No, it’s not. You suggested an afternoon patio party at the very exclusive Walkton Club with their staff catering, right?”

“Uh-huh.” J.J. felt her words leave her.

“That’s not the go-to venue these days. Most groups want something more modern, down by the water if possible.”

“They do, so that’s why I thought, because we’re talking about someone on the older side since he’s retiring, that an aging-but-still-grand location would be better suited. Obviously, I was thinking too much in the box.”

“Are the proposals exactly the same?”

“From what Ms. Barker says, they are. No wait. The other anonymous planner has suggested a private catering firm rather than the club’s. But that’s about all that differs. This can’t be happening.” J.J. stood and started to pace.

“Hold on. You’ve got another chance at it. Read on.”

“I know. Barker wants one unique, dynamic suggestion
from each of us by end of day Friday and that will decide who she goes with. Friday! Something unique!” She started pacing faster
. She pictured herself racing up the stairs in the Carter building to Olivia Barker’s office on the twelfth floor. Of course, the elevator wasn’t working. As she struggled up to the receptionist’s desk, the clock struck twelve, and a gorgeous blonde wearing a formfitting orange jersey sleeveless dress that stopped midthigh and fab multicolored heels at least six inches high, came out of Barker’s office. She sneered at J.J. as she swept past her and out the door. Olivia Barker appeared at her door and told J.J. she was sorry, but J.J. was too late.

J.J. realized Skye stood watching her. J.J. gave her a weak grin and slumped on the couch. “Oh boy.”

“Understatement.”

J.J. sat staring out the window for several minutes, then sat upright. “I will not lose this one. I’ll come up with something so brilliant it will live on in the annals of event planning. But what?”

Back at her own desk, Skye asked, “Are you wanting to brainstorm or trying to psyche yourself up?”

“I think I’ll get my brain in gear first, then try to storm the little gray cells. If all fails, I’ll draw you into the loop. Okay?”

“Fine. In that case, I’m taking an early lunch with Nick. He wants me to take a look at a new condo he’s thinking of buying.”

“Whoo-ee. Does this involve a ring in the future?”

Skye thought about it a second. “We pussyfoot around it, so I doubt it’s anytime soon. He just wants my input. Superior taste, you know.” She winked as she slid her arms into her pale blue jacket, pulled her purse out of her desk drawer, and patted J.J. on the head as she walked past her. “I have complete and utter confidence in you, sweetie. You’ll pull it off.”

J.J. grunted and went back to staring out the window. What
to do? She usually loved coming up with ideas; in fact, that’s the part of the job she enjoyed the most. The follow-through could be tedious and tiring at times. Of course, time management was not her strongest suit. Skye held the trophy in that area. And there were always those pesky obstacles that popped up every now and then, derailing the critical path she’d worked so hard to create. Relying on other people could be a downer sometimes, too. Uh-oh, this wasn’t good. She was spiraling into a funk.
Time to think positive.

The wrap-up of a job well done was the most positive feeling ever. But the ideas were her spark. How could someone else have come up with that same spark? She sat up a bit straighter. She wouldn’t let this anonymous person get the better of her. She could do it. She just had to relax, let the ideas flow. Start jotting ideas on the whiteboard they’d attached to the wall, behind the door when it was open. That was it. Every time she walked out the door, she had to first jot down an idea.
Great start.

The phone rang, and she pushed herself off the couch with a slight groan. Sitting in that position for a prolonged length of time hadn’t been such a good idea. She was limping slightly when the office door opened. She looked over to find Ty Devine staring at her, a look of amusement on his face.

“I see you’re taking to the fitness project with ease.”

She shook her head at him and grabbed the phone, but it had already gone to voice mail. She hung up, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Devine?” That was good a good start. “Or are you here to share some information with me?” Time to start pumping him.

“About what?”

J.J. bit her tongue before exploding at him. He was goading her; she knew that. She could handle it. “Perhaps about the murder investigation of Antonio Marcotti. It appears I am still
a suspect since you volunteered information about it being possible for me to slip back to the scene of the crime.” She glared at him until he answered.

“First of all, I didn’t volunteer any information. I answered the questions I was asked. And second, it is true. However, if you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”

“
If
I’m innocent. Of course I am. But given that, do you really believe I have nothing to worry about?” she asked, unable to hide the quaver in her voice. She sank into her chair.

He looked at her and sighed. “No, I don’t believe it. I was just trying to make you feel better. I’ve worked with the police before. Hell, I was a cop at one point, and I know how easy it is to have tunnel vision. You find a suspect that fits the bill, and suddenly you make it happen.”

“You were a cop?”

He grinned. “Yes, in another life.”

“Where? When?”

“Boston. And like I said, another life.” He sat on the edge of her desk. The edge nearest her, she noticed.

“Why did you quit? Or were you fired?”
The devil made me say that.

He glanced sharply at her. “Like I said, it was another life. Now, I know you’re pretty uptight about all this, but I have a question for you.”

Despite herself, she felt intrigued. “Shoot. Oops.”

He grinned again. She almost flashed him one in return.

“Not today,” he said. “I want you to tell me all you’ve learned so far, and before you try to stonewall again, I’m talking about the Marcotti investigation. If you think I’m not clueing in to the fact that you’re questioning Candy Fleetwood and Rocco Gates, not to mention that you’re friends with Evan Thornton, then you’re delusional. Four equally viable suspects. And you’re the constant here. So, what do you know?”

She shrugged. “I’m flattered you think I have the ability to
figure this out when neither the cops nor you have, but really, I don’t have a clue. Honestly. I know I didn’t do it; equally certain it wasn’t Evan; very sure Rocco is innocent; and, not sure what I think about Candy. How’s that?”

Ty grimaced. “One of us is not trying hard enough.”

“You mean you’re clueless, too?” She tried to keep a straight face.

“That is correct; however, it’s early days.”

“I thought the cops always say if it’s not solved in the first forty-eight hours, it probably won’t be solved.”

“You’ve been watching too much TV but that’s generally how it goes. However, for a high profile case like this one, they’ll keep digging, and deeply, for some time. They’ll want a solid case before it goes to trial.”

He stood and looked down at her. That made her uncomfortable, so she also stood, trying not to groan, and faced him with the desk between them.

“What makes it high profile? Marcotti wasn’t a politician. He wasn’t overly wealthy, was he? No celebrity status. Or am I missing something?”

“His wife is independently wealthy, and with that status comes some pull. I’m certain she’ll make sure this is followed through to the end.”

“Is she your client?”

He grinned. “Nice try.” He glanced at his watch. “Gotta run. But I’ll leave you with some advice: since you haven’t dug too deeply yet, don’t. There is a murderer on the loose, and he won’t stop at getting rid of you if he thinks you’re getting too close to finding him, no matter how cute.”

“Excuse me? Cute? Are you using that word in the same thought as a killer?” Her cheeks felt on fire. “As you can see, I’m not getting in your investigative way, nor am I a threat to anyone, so I may or may not ask a few questions here and
there. Have a nice afternoon.” She limped to the door and held it open for him.

He flashed her a smile as he left but said nothing.

She caught the door before it slammed. No good letting him know he’d gotten under her skin. Cute was not her style. Nor was playing sleuth, but she wanted to find out who had murdered Marcotti and save not only herself but also her friends from further anguish. She did not include Candy Fleetwood in that group.

She was at home later that night, having finished the leftovers from Sunday’s dinner and nursing a glass of red wine, when the thought came to her. Of the group of four, as she had started thinking of them, Candy was the only viable suspect, so what was her motive? And, if it wasn’t Candy, then there were others to be added to the list. How long was the list the police had, and how could she find out who was on it?

Alison wouldn’t give names, but maybe she would nod or something in answer to questions like
Are there more than four suspects?
Maybe Tansy’s spy could then fill in the details. J.J. reached for the phone and punched in Alison’s home number.

“Alison, I have a quick but important question to ask you,” she said when voice mail kicked in. “If you’re free for coffee tomorrow morning, I’ll be at Cups ’n’ Roses at seven forty-five. Let me know.”

There, that would have to do for now. Except for the list of possible Candy motives. She grabbed a pad and wrote down a heading. How about jealousy? Anger? Or both? She had wanted to be Mrs. Marcotti and he, after months or years (how long had they been together?) had finally told her in no uncertain terms that he would never leave his wife. Candy
then plotted, waiting for the right moment when he’d be alone, late at night, possibly leaving a client’s event, which of course he would have told her about. And she lay in wait, stabbing him to death when the coast was clear. That would work.

However, would her anger have been that raw after a few days of waiting for the perfect killing time? Probably not. So she’d have been better off disposing of the Mrs. and then just stepping into that role.

Oh no. J.J. had just ruled out Candy as the murderer.