You Don't Know Jack (9 page)

"Damn. The spouse is always the most likely suspect. How did you end up being his alibi?"

We hadn't had time to really talk since the night of the murder, what with Stone keeping us apart, hauling us to the station and continuing to keep us apart, not to mention absconding with our cell phones which literally squelched phoning and texting between us.

As I drove I explained how I'd been eavesdropping on Bruce and Stone when I heard the scuffle — that I now realized was Lars being murdered — in another room.

"Since Stone hasn't returned my Nikon or high-tech recording device, we'll need some back up gear." We stopped at Walmart, bought a couple of throwaway cameras, and hit a Starbucks afterwards, where I clued him into my plan over a couple of triple-shot, double mocha Grandes. I figured if we took photos of as many of the memorial attendees as possible, and mingled in the crowd, listening, we might glean something that could lead to proving who'd killed Lars.

Back in my car, we headed to the celebration of life party, being held at Maplewood Greens Golf Club on Maple Valley Highway. Apollo was fiddling with his new cell phone, a SmartPhone he'd upgraded to after Stone took his old one. He said, "This phone is better than sex."

"Really?" I watched his finger stroke the screen and could see what he meant. There was something sensuous about it. Maybe I needed one. "Would it replace my vibrator?"

"Absolutely."

Oh, yeah, I definitely needed one. Though... on second thought, how much tension would a cyber orgasm relieve? And even though my bank account bulged thanks to Lars' check, I was back to watching my pennies in case I needed to bail Apollo out of jail, or hire him a lawyer.

He began typing, checking e-mail, I supposed, or texting or tweeting. Or maybe climaxing.

I hoped someone was. Climaxing, that is.

He said, "What about other family members?"

"Deceased. Lars was an only child, change of life baby. His parents were in their sixties when he was in middle school."

"I'm eliminating the Crain Sisters and the Golden Oldies," Apollo said. "Besides the obvious, the consensus at the
C & F
is that the world without Lars will be much less interesting."

"We need to move to the next ring of his circle. Business associates. Starting with his agent, Carter Hawks. I can't figure out his motive though. Lars was Hawks' cash cow. His bread and butter. Worth more to Hawks alive."

"Maybe not." Apollo tapped on his phone, read something, and then said, "Gossip Central, aka, Twitter has it that Lars was about to sign on with a new agent."

"No... no... that can't be true. Carter Hawks pulled Lars from the slush pile and made him a superstar. You don't drop an agent or manager who does that for you. Besides, Lars would have told me. Part of our deal was that he was going to introduce me to Hawks, and recommend Hawks read my manuscript."

"Well, you can't believe everything posted on Twitter. They're always claiming some movie star or other is dead, when they aren't. Key words: Gossip Central."

It did seem anyone could post something on a social network and soon everyone was adding their opinion and embellishing on the original post even if the original post was false. Personally, I didn't Twitter. Or tweet. Or Facebook. Or Google Plus. I can barely keep up with texting given all my jobs and writing and the Crain Sisters. "We'll need to confirm all rumors pertaining to our suspects."

He was typing again. "Even rumors about Lars?"

"What rumors about Lars?"

"Some folks are saying Lars had major writer's block."

"I get writer's block." Usually because I've written myself into a corner. "It goes with the territory, but it seldom lasts long."

"They're saying his was so bad he plagiarized his last book. The one he was sued over."

I remembered the case. A woman dragged Lars to court for stealing her story. She claimed she'd shown it to him at a conference. The judge sided with Lars. "Do you remember who the woman was?"

"No one ever saw her. She sent her lawyer to court. But I can dig up her name."

"Do it. Anyone else?"

He sighed. "I heard a rumor a couple of weeks ago that I didn't put much stock in, but maybe we should check it out. Patricia Pepper, aka Peppermint Patty, of
The Peppered Page
bookstores in Bellevue and on Bainbridge Island, was
allegedly
stalking Lars."

"Stalking him?" I pulled into the Maplewood Greens parking lot. The cold windy day discouraged golfers, but the lot was filling quickly with arrivals for Lars' send off. "Why would a bookseller stalk an author? Wouldn't he do book signings in her stores?"

"According to the rumor, Peppermint Patty was obsessed with Lars. I heard he was trying to get a restraining order against her."

"You mean she was making threats or was maybe dangerous?"

"I heard she thinks Lars was her husband or fiancé."

Didn't Peppermint Patty know Lars was gay? "Sounds like she's an erotomaniac."

"A what?"

"I watched a documentary on the Discovery Channel, or the Lifetime Channel about it. The gist is, some guy will see a woman on TV or in the movies and become fixated. They actually believe the starlet or model or whoever is personally involved with them. They develop a whole fantasy world around the object of their fixation. Often these fantasies turn violent."

"That's just wrong." Apollo undid his seat belt. He looked worried. "I'm pretty sure I saw Batty Patty at the service earlier."

"Maybe she'll be here, too.

"That's what worries me."

"Put her on the list." Crazy dangerous made for good suspects — as did the cheated and betrayed.

I stepped from my car, feeling the chill of the wind right through my winter coat. I always thought Lars was a dog, but wow, if he was as disloyal as rumors suggested, I owed canines everywhere an apology. Even junkyard dogs are loyal. Lars didn't seem to have a loyal bone in his body. Of course, his disloyalty to me had once seemed like a godsend. It brought Stone Maddox back into my life in a passionate firestorm, and Stone, bless him, mended my shattered ego and revived my squelched libido with the skill of a master mechanic making a mishandled motor purr.

Lately, it didn't seem much of a favor, what with my motor in constant sputter-mode, and my master mechanic withholding his magical tools.

Apollo licked his lips. "I know you said you could alibi Bruce, but you should know there is a possibility that Lars was about to leave him."

I turned wide eyes on my BFF. "Do you think that's true?"

"Maybe..."

I thought about it a moment. "Hmmm..."

"Bruce might have hired someone to kill Lars..."

I nodded. "He's back on the list."

"Tippy top."

I pictured Nancy Grace giving us a thumbs up.

We hurried inside the one story building, into a wide corridor and through the double doors of the banquet room. Bruce had spared no expense. Round tables covered in floor length white cloths dominated, the decor decked out as lavishly as a wedding reception. Guests were everywhere, packed elbow to elbow. A sumptuous buffet spread across two long tables and spiced the air with mouth-watering aromas. Mourners were queued and filling plates.

I spied Stone's older brother, Duke, and his father, Carl near the bar. Carl, a retired Seattle Police officer, was my father's partner when Daddy was murdered. Duke, a high powered criminal attorney, was as polished as Stone was rugged.

I didn't see Stone, but he was here. Somewhere. I felt him in the undercurrent of nerves shivering beneath my flesh, in the prickling of my neck. I wished to hell I could get over it. Over him. Under him.

"There's Bruce." Apollo pointed with one of the cameras and captured the moment.

I scanned the group around Bruce. They ranged from hunks of masculine beef-cake in muscle shirts with nose and eyebrow rings to drag queens resembling the usual celebrities. Sorrow appeared to be the expression of choice. I wondered if one of them was the consummate actor, a killer hiding behind the mask he showed the world.

Say, Bruce.

Okay, maybe I just wanted it to be Bruce. Or someone, anyone, who wasn't Apollo.

I snapped photos of the crowd, seated at tables and standing near the wall, recognizing a few local notables, the mayor of Renton, a candidate for governor and a senator. And a few non-notables, including the barista from
The Daily Grind
espresso stand, a mini-mart clerk, and the owner of a favorite Chinese restaurant.

"There she is," Apollo motioned to a woman across the room, and aimed his camera in her direction. "Batty Peppermint Patty."

My gaze followed his lead to a head of dark chocolate hair with a Cruella de Vil snowy streak through its center. That was all I could make out from this distance. I would have to squeeze my way through the crowd to reach her.

But Bruce spotted me first. "You!"

A hush ran through the room. I felt the crowd shift, felt curious gazes lock and load onto the drama they sensed about to unfold.

Bruce waved his arms, the gauzy black sleeves of his designer blouse flapping like wings, giving him the appearance of a rabid, towheaded bat. "How dare you bring Lars' murderer here!"

A collective gasp sounded as Bruce pointed at Apollo.

"No!" How dare he humiliate my best friend?! "He didn't do it. He's innocent."

"The murder weapon was found in his car."

I gaped at Bruce. "What murder weapon?"

"The knife."

Lars had been stabbed to death? An image flashed of Madam Zee running her finger across her neck, followed by an image of my hands covered in blood. The knife was found in Apollo's car? "No."

"Touching of you to defend him... since you gave the police the tie he left behind after killing Lars."

Vaguely I was aware of Apollo gasping, then mouth agape, pivoting toward me, his face full of shock and disbelief and hurt.

I'm pretty sure my heart stopped cold, then and there, that I died on the spot, that for a whole minute or two I was hovering over my body peering down on the nightmarish scene of Bruce accusing, Apollo horrified, and the guests gaping.

"
Jack B
, y
ou
gave Maddox the tie?" Apollo's fire-spitting tone jolted me back into my body, to feel the full fury of the hell-heat of my betrayal.

"I — I—" Crap. I couldn't speak. There was no defense. No denial. My cheeks burned the truth. Anger at myself brought me nose to nose with Bruce. "Apollo had no motive."

"No motive?" Bruce released a humorless laugh. "Are you kidding? You don't know about the letters? Talk about incriminating."

Letters? The words hit me like darts piercing a bullseye. I wanted to deny what Bruce was saying. I pictured us standing there playing an adolescent game of "Did not!" "Did so!" I barely kept from shouting, "You're a liar just like Lars! There are no incriminating letters! You're trying to cover your own guilty ass!"

But some part of me was too aware of the crowd, too aware that somewhere in that crowd were the Crain Sisters, the Golden Oldies, the Maddox men. Somehow I managed, "You're upset. Overcome with grief—"

"Ask Detective Maddox," Bruce taunted. "I gave him the letters this morning."

I felt the stroke of a familiar gaze and, glancing over the riveted crowd, I met Stone's hard eyes. His handsome face wore his usual stay-out-of-it look.

Too late. The floor beneath me had gone mushy at what I saw in my BFF's eyes.

Hatred... for me.

And worse... guilt.

I've always believed trust is a bonding agent — much like Gorilla Glue, strong enough to hold even when it takes a tornado-sized hit. So, imagine my shock when something as tiny and fragile as a secret zapped that bond like Clairol bleach zaps dark roots.

The week passed in a blur of sexy men and awful happenings. Apollo avoided me as he would a horde of West Nile mosquitoes. Not that I blamed him. After Stone confirmed Lars had been stabbed with a knife found in Apollo's VW, Apollo had been arrested, charged with first degree murder, and called a flight risk by the judge, his bail set for more than I'd saved of Lars' contract money.

I still didn't know who'd paid it.

I could understand Apollo being angry at me for not telling him about the tie, but I was just as pissed at him for not telling me about the incriminating letters, whatever they were. I figured that made us even and therefore, all should be forgiven. He disagreed. I think. I wasn't sure since he wasn't speaking to me.

Stone on the other hand wouldn't leave me alone, and without my BFF to bring me chocolate or talk me down when the man-cravings were at their worst, my on-going battle to remain celibate grew shakier by the minute. I needed a diversion.

My apartment might only boast one bathroom, but it had two bedrooms. Well, one bedroom and a pantry-sized cubby hole with a closet and window. My office. It held a corner desk, a bookshelf, and a white eraser board for plotting — a trick I'd learned from Lars.