Treacherous Tart (17 page)

He pulled the Honda into a parking place in front of a three-story brick office building in the business district of downtown Durham. “After we talk to Marco.”

“You know you'll feel better if we talk about it.”

“We will.” He took off his seat belt. “Look, I know you're concerned. I appreciate that, Maggie. But I have to come up with some answers for my story about Donald before I can deal with losing the building.”

“I know.” She touched his cheek. “I'm worried about you. That's all.”

He turned his head and kissed her hand. “This isn't just for me. I don't want Frank to go any further investigating Clara either.”

Durham Singles Dating Service was on the top floor. They took the elevator up, and Ryan pointed to the small sign for the company.

“I thought it would be bigger,” Maggie said.

“All he needs is a computer,” Ryan replied. “It's pure profit. Maybe I should make the
Weekly
an online-only paper. I could cut out a lot of my costs that way.”

“But you'd lose readers like Aunt Clara. She won't go near a computer unless she has to. I think she likes the paper smell too, and holding it in her hands.”

He opened the door with the name “Durham Singles” on it. “That's true.”

“Can I help you?” A beautiful, exotic-looking woman was seated at a small desk in a tiny outer office. There were two metal folding chairs set in front of her.

“I'm looking for Marco.” Ryan flashed his
Durham Weekly
press pass. “I'm Ryan Summerour.”

The woman looked suitably impressed. “He's in his office. He's expecting you.”

“Thanks.” Ryan opened the door into the second minuscule office, holding it for Maggie to go in before him.

If Ryan was right, this was the heart of Durham Singles. There was a laptop and a big computer on a desk beside a workspace where Marco was sitting.

Marco Ricci was of strong Italian descent with a large Roman nose and deep-set dark eyes. His black hair was threaded with strands of silver.

“You must be with the paper.” Marco stood and shook hands with Ryan.

“Yes.” Ryan also gave him a business card and flashed his press pass again. “Ryan Summerour. The
Durham Weekly
.”

“Of course. I think we run a regular ad in your paper.” Marco sat down again. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm here to talk about Donald Wickerson. I spoke with you on the phone. You said you've met him.”

“That's right. We host an occasional meet and greet for our clients. Mr. Wickerson was at our last event.” Ryan took out his phone and started taking notes. “When was that?”

“The meet and greet was about a month ago. Mr. Wickerson said he was new to the area and was interested in meeting some other Silver Foxes.”

“But you had a few women who were interested in him that weren't Silver Foxes, right?” Maggie felt as though she should say something. It wasn't her style to sit and watch.

Ryan glanced at her with a quizzical look in his eyes.

Marco nodded. “You know there's always someone looking for a person much older—and much younger. We don't ask our clients why they need who they need. Our job is to help them find that special person.”

“Did you notice anyone in particular with Mr. Wickerson while he was at the meet and greet?”
Ryan said it quickly, as though he was afraid Maggie might ask before him.

“As a matter of fact, he hit it off with one of our other clients. We have hundreds of new clients of all ages every week, you know.”

“And she was younger?” Ryan tapped the answers into his cell phone.

“Oh yes.
Much
younger. And very good-looking.
Sexy.
” Marco grinned. “Know what I mean?”

“What's her name?”

“I can't give you her name. I'm sorry.” Marco ran his hand through his thick black hair. “We have a strict privacy policy. We're famous for it. Our clients depend on our integrity.”

“You know the police are investigating Mr. Wickerson's death as a homicide.” Ryan's voice was smooth, his manner calm, as though the information meant nothing to him. “I suppose they haven't contacted you yet. I haven't written anything about Wickerson being part of the dating service yet.”

Marco looked a little shaken. “I haven't heard from the police. We
do
keep that ad in your paper, Summerour. That should mean something. Maybe you could leave us out of your story.”

“I'll do that as much as possible,” Ryan promised. “The police already know that the dating service is involved with what Wickerson was doing. I won't divulge you as a source, but I can't promise what the police will do.”

“All right. Give me a minute.” Marco began to search through his files.

•  •  •

I
t seems to
me that Debbie was going out of her way to make sure she kept tabs on Donald.”

“Odd, since she said she didn't want to date him.” Ryan held the door to the street open for Maggie.

He'd shaken hands with Marco after he'd given him Debbie Blackwelder's name, and they'd left his office.

“That doesn't mean she killed him,” Maggie pointed out. “She sort of admitted that she found him attractive. I don't think it's surprising that she would chase him a little.”

“Why are women interested in someone so much older?”

“Why are men interested in women who are
so
much younger?”

“I don't know. I wouldn't even know what to say to a woman in her early twenties.”

“I don't think it has anything to do with
conversation
.”

Ryan scowled. “You mean younger women only want to have sex with really older men?”

Maggie laughed. “No, they want to talk to them too. I think it's the wisdom factor. They've been a lot
of places and know a lot of things. There's a maturity level that isn't there in younger men.”

They paused for a red light, and Ryan looked at her. “Are you saying I'm immature?”

“Not exactly,” she teased. “But men like Donald, or your father, are fascinating.”

“You better be joking. If you start dating my dad—”

She kissed his cheek lightly. “Why would I want to be with your father when I could be with you—and we could spend all of our time running around chasing stories for the newspaper?”

“Exactly.” The light changed and he started the car forward. “Wait. What?”

“Never mind.” She laughed. “So we like Debbie for Donald's murder. What can we do to prove it?”

“For starters, we can see if she owns a nine-millimeter pistol.”

“Which she wouldn't have, if it was the one that killed Donald, because it was found behind Pie in the Sky.”

“True, but if she can't account for it, that adds to her profile as Donald's killer. And in my experience, where there's one gun, there are at least two more. My dad has about thirty of them. It's like collecting anything else.”

“Even if we find out she has thirty other nine-millimeter pistols, that won't mean the one that
killed Donald was hers. Besides, with the numbers filed off the gun, how would we know if it was hers or not?”

“If you build up enough circumstantial evidence in a case, you can do something with it. It might not be enough to arrest her, but we could take it to Frank and he could look into more about Debbie than we can find on the Internet.”

“Is that even possible? I thought you could find out as much as the police.”

“Not without paying for it.”

“What did you find out about David? Don't bother telling me you didn't look.”

“I didn't have time to do more than a cursory search,” he admitted. “He seems to be who he says he is. No surprises.”

Maggie didn't tell him that her aunt said she hadn't asked David to check the furnace. After all, it was probably only male chest pounding. There was enough of that going on already between him and Ryan.

They got back to Ryan's house as Aunt Clara and Garrett were setting the table for dinner. In honor of the occasion, Garrett had gone down to his wine cellar and taken out a bottle of muscadine wine from one of the local vineyards in the area.

“I feel like I'm presenting my first pie.” Aunt Clara giggled as she put on large oven mitts and started to take the chicken potpies out of the oven.

“Let me help you with that.” Garrett was eager in his attempt to assist her—too eager. He thrust his hands into the oven and grasped the cookie sheet that held the potpies. He let out a loud yelp and quickly released it.

“Are you all right?” Aunt Clara dropped the big mitts and looked at his hand. “Oh, it's very red. It may blister. Let's get it into some ice water.”

Maggie picked up the gloves and moved the pot-pies out of the oven.

Ryan filled a bowl with crushed ice from the freezer. Aunt Clara put water into it and guided Garrett to the table where he could ice his fingers.

“I'm perfectly fine, Clara,” he said in a gruff voice. “No need to make a fuss.”

He started to take his hand out of the bowl. She immediately pushed it back down and held her delicate hand over his.

“Now, don't be a hero,” she admonished. “A burn can be very bad. You sit here and leave your hand in the bowl. By the time everything is ready for dinner, you'll be in good shape.”

Garrett subsided. His fate was clear. He even smiled as Clara patted his hand.

“I'd really like to have some salad with this.” Maggie peered into the refrigerator. “Anyone else want some? There's romaine, cucumber, and a few carrots.”

“None for me.” Aunt Clara and Garrett said the same thing at the same moment.

“Jinx!” she called out. Garrett smiled.

“I'll help you with that,” Ryan said. “Any fresh veggies you see in here are mine. Dad won't touch them.”

“Aunt Clara is the same way. Makes you wonder how they got to their ripe old ages when they don't eat vegetables.”

“Who's a ripe old age?” Garrett roared out.

“I believe she was talking about someone else. Both of us are barely middle-aged.” Aunt Clara smiled at him as she continued to hold his hand in the bowl of ice water.

Maggie grinned at Ryan. She couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to bring her aunt and Ryan's father closer together. She really believed they had a lot in common. She knew Garrett liked her aunt. It was a matter of convincing Aunt Clara that Garrett could talk about more than politics.

When the salad was ready, and the potpie had been sliced and put on white china plates, everyone sat down to eat. Aunt Clara skipped the wine and had sweet tea instead. Garrett gallantly toasted her help in saving his hand from a horrible burn. By that time, his hand had been removed from the ice water and Clara had expertly dried it.

“So did you two find anything interesting when you went out?” Aunt Clara asked.

“We found another piece of the Debbie
Blackwelder puzzle.” Ryan cut a piece of pie with his fork and put it in his mouth. “Wow! This is great.”

Aunt Clara blushed prettily. “Thank you. Maggie, you did an excellent job on this filling.”

“How many pies are you going to need for the library fund-raiser?” Maggie asked.

“Probably twenty.”

Maggie almost choked. “Really? That's a lot of potpies.”

“You said I should show up Lenora by making potpies. How many did you think I'd need? It's the biggest event of the year!” Aunt Clara struck an indignant pose.

“That's fine.” Maggie thought about the number of pies they made every day for the pie shop. “If we bake them at Pie in the Sky, we can do it a lot faster.”

“I'd love to test them on the lunch crowd.” Aunt Clara ate another piece of potpie. “I'm sure they'd be a hit. We don't dare, though—not until
after
the event. We don't want Lenora to steal our idea and make potpies.”

Garrett cleared his throat. Maggie noticed that he had a habit of doing that each time before he spoke. It was as though he was about to make a speech in front of an audience and had something important to say.

“I was thinking about this problem you've been having with the police, Clara.”

She waved her hand. “I wouldn't call it a problem, Garrett. Detective Waters is a little worried that I may have killed Donald after reading the truth about him in your paper.”

“I was thinking that you could use a good lawyer,” Garrett continued. “I know it's nothing right now, but it might be better to be prepared for it to be something. Our lawyer is on retainer. I'd be happy to arrange a meeting with him for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Aunt Clara replied. “But I'm fine. You're a good friend to offer.”

They ate in silence for a while. Maggie hoped Garrett would drop that idea since her aunt seemed opposed to it. His way of strong-arming situations was something Aunt Clara didn't like about him.

“I didn't know you still had a lawyer on retainer,” Ryan said to his father. “Is that for the paper?”

“Of course. Every professional newspaper needs a lawyer. What if someone decided to sue you over a story?” Garrett asked. “What would you do without a lawyer?”

“We have access to attorneys as members of the Press Association. We can cut that expense from the budget. What else are you still spending money on for the paper that I don't know about?”

Garrett's shaggy eyebrows rose in an imperious manner. “I think I know what's best for the paper, son. Let's not argue about this in front of the ladies.”

The doorbell rang before Ryan could say anything more. Maggie could see that dinner was over for him. He had plenty he wanted to discuss with his father.

Garrett went to answer the door and came back with Albert Mann at his side.