Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (19 page)

I went into the back and shoved my grocery bag of perishables into the refrigerator and laid the others on the chair behind Regina’s desk. I returned to the front and rooted around in the magazines, since I knew I’d need a distraction until I could think of a good way to get the conversation rolling. The latest copy of
Naturally You!
was
mixed in with the normal Time,
Good Housekeeping
,
People
, and
Reader’s Digest
.

I’d just settled in to read an article titled
Nappturality
, when Regina finished the lower part of Betsy’s hair, allowing her client to lift her head.
Time to lay the bomb.

“I’m rounding up on that fund-raiser we talked on having for the Buchanan’s, Regina. I’ll need some help making batches of my hot pepper relish and salad dressings to sell. I’m calling them Sara’s Sauce.”

Regina lowered Betsy’s chair some, wielded her comb, then set another piece of foil at the crown of Betsy’s head. She was beginning to look like an armadillo. “That’s a great idea. A batch of your vegetable beef soup would go far. Your spaghetti and meatballs would be a huge hit too.” She paused her combing. “And if you can get William to do up some of his fabulous bread . . . yum! I wonder if he would agree to do a
demonstration?
”

Betsy remained strangely quiet.

“George came into the restaurant to see Elizabeth this morning. I wish now I would have mentioned it to him, but I figure Elizabeth probably said something already since I told her last night.”

“Do you have a better idea of what you’re going to do? Food is a huge attraction, and if you do it on the weekend and run some advertising in Denver, you’ll draw the people looking for a weekend getaway.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“What do you think Eugene would like to contribute?” I directed this right at Betsy.

Betsy’s expression seemed pained. “Eugene is busy with his campaign. He won’t stand another thing on his plate.”

“Sure he could. His sponsorship would boost his image, and he’s always concerned about that. I know Lester would welcome the chance to contribute some way.”

“Let Lester do it then,” Betsy snapped. “I’ve had enough of the whole mayoral thing. It bores me.”

I’m thinking her community service didn’t help to endear her to politics, but it was her own fault. Sometimes it’s not the crime that bothers
people,
it’s the getting caught part. I wondered which category Betsy fell into.

“So you’re not standing by your man in this campaign?”

Betsy’s lips disappeared into a firm, straight line. “I’ve got my own business to run. Eugene is free to do as he pleases.”

Regina sent me a look over Betsy’s head. I’m guessing she was thinking the same thing I was. If Betsy was so quick to make that kind of statement, she probably felt like she was also free to do as she pleased. Whether Eugene knew this or not remained to be seen. Their silent, distracted meal last evening took on new meaning.

But I couldn’t jump to conclusions. I needed evidence. “Someone said they thought they saw you in the car with George Buchanan the other night, coming back from Denver.”

Betsy’s eyes fired right up. If I’d been closer, I would have gotten smoked to a pile of bones. “Who would say such a thing? I’m a real estate agent. I have to show properties.”

She was getting real worked up now.
Her face turning a hot pink.

Regina kept right on layering foils up the back of Betsy’s head. It didn’t surprise me that Regina could keep working. My guess is she’d worked through every kind of tirade, crying fit, and any other emotional drama a woman produced.

“Besides,
it ’s
none of your business what I was out doing with George Buchanan. He’s my client and I won’t discuss his business.”

Did I ask her to? “Seems to me I asked a simple question to clear the air, because I sure would hate to see George and Elizabeth
have
any more trouble heaped on their plates.”

“Their marital problems aren’t my doing.”

My heart broke at hearing that. Betsy, her tongue flapping hard, didn’t realize just what she was giving away while trying valiantly to defend herself. As I studied Betsy’s face, there was a quiet tug on my conscience. I knew that tug.
Understood it.
I realized that what I was seeing in Betsy
Taser’s
face seemed a quiet desperation, and God, in His wisdom, was telling me to back off.

Regina had moved to Betsy’s side. Her hands kept moving, but her attention swept to me and she raised her eyebrows.

I lightened up. “We sure would like to include you in the fun, Betsy.”
Maybe the gal who seemed to need no one really only needed a chance.

Betsy sniffed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead stirring a pot of sauce over a fire like some Civil War
reenactor
.”

There she goes, plucking me all over again. I hummed a tune.
Amazing . . . Grace . . . how sweet . . . the sound
.
That’s my version of counting to ten before I said something I knew I’d regret. Plus it reminded me to season my words with kindness, instead of cayenne. “Throw on some old clothes and who cares? You could advertise your business with a donation.”

“That child is dead,
LaTisha
. She’s not coming back.
Ever.
What good will
a donation do
now?”

“It’ll help the
Buchanans
with the bills, ease their burden.”

“Maybe George doesn’t need help. Maybe he’s like the rest of us and just needs to be left alone.”

This was a Betsy I had never seen before. Instead of smart-mouthed and snippy, she’d morphed into an overwrought emotional creature. Something was up with that, I can tell you. Either Betsy was growing a conscience, or her conscience was being troubled.

I retreated to my magazine for a bit, afraid to poke anymore sweetness at the woman for fear she might have a complete breakdown on poor Regina. Only when I heard the hair dryer going did I finally look up.

Betsy’s back was to me, but in the mirror I could see her expression. She seemed to be staring at something Regina had stuck along the frame of the mirror. I waited real patient-like for Regina to finish blow-drying before asking my next question.

“What do you think about this Aidan fellow getting shot?” I toyed with the idea of letting the whole hit man-for-hire thing slip, but with Regina being the chief’s wife, I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t tell on me.

That’s when a hundred-watt light bulb went off in my head. No harm in leading her along the path with some carefully crafted words. “I always thought he looked like one of those guys you hire to be a hit on someone you don’t like. Those dark eyes . . .” I kept talking, but watched with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise as Betsy
Taser’s
eyes met mine in the mirror, and her face went lily-white.

Chapter Twenty

“I thought she was going to hang herself with that cape before she finally figured out how to get it off,” I commented to Regina as we watched Betsy hustle herself down the sidewalk.

After my little spill of information, the woman had practically thrown the money at Regina and raced to get out of the place.

“Aidan did look like some secret service agent didn’t
he
?” Regina folded the cape and took it into the back room. Unless I missed my guess, she didn’t have a clue about William overhearing a hit on Eugene. Chief was more tight-lipped than I’d expected.
Not that he didn’t do things by the book,
but I figured he might share some details of the investigation with his wife. Maybe he knew it would be too easy for Regina, surrounded by gossiping women, to let something fly that didn’t need to be general knowledge.

I sat myself down in Regina’s chair as she reappeared with a clean cape and shook it out. “I saw you have some clients coming down from the city.”

“I’ve been doing more advertising up that way. The ladies who come in here usually tell me they’re tired of waiting for an appointment, then getting here and having to wait all over again. It’s a city thing.”

I could feel Regina’s fingers in my hair, lightly plucking at the ends. “
You planning
for the big day?”

I knew where she was going with that question. “It’s past time.”

“It is.
Sisterlocks’ll
look good on you,
LaTisha
. You’re hair isn’t as coarse as some I’ve seen and you have a healthy scalp.”

“Long hours of pulling and prodding at it won’t make it happy. Lela said her head was sore for two days after they put in the locks.”

“She took the plunge, huh?”

Regina began massaging my scalp. Heaven, that’s what it was.
Pure heaven.
“Her new job and finishing up her school keeps her so busy, she said she was glad to be free of worrying over her hair so much.”

“Just the usual then?”

“Yeah.
I’ll make the appointment soon, but I can tell you that between the long drive into Denver for the consult, plus the hours sitting in a chair if I do go through with it, sure makes it mighty easy to find an excuse to put it off.”

“True. But you need to treat yourself. Think of it, with Hardy’s new teeth and your new hair, you two will be a very distinguished couple.”

“Or extinguished, depending on how you look at it.”

Regina laughed, her fingers moving over to the left side of my head. “What did you think of Betsy’s exit?”

“She’s got a healthy dose of something weighing her down.
A personal crisis, judging by the emotion.
Have you ever seen her
so on
the defense like that?”

“Never.
Usually she’s the one making others cry.”

Regina should know, too, since her relationship with Betsy
Taser
had never been an easy one.

“
LaTisha
,” Regina’s fingers stilled on my scalp. “Do you think it’s true about Betsy and George? Could that be why she’s so adamant about her client’s right to privacy all of a sudden?”

I rolled it over in my mind. Losing George would kill Elizabeth. But their kiss that morning, and Elizabeth’s quick dismissal of the gesture, coupled with the arguments she said they’d been having, all sent a different message. Maybe losing George wouldn’t kill her. Could be that their marriage was already in ICU and they both had made the decision not to resuscitate.

“Oh!” Regina ran her fingers along my hairline. “You’ve got lots of new growth.”

She babied my new hair and we settled back into the conversation of hairstyles, which suited me. Letting things simmer never failed to bring out the true flavors.

Michael
Nooseman
wasn’t in his office at the
Distant Echo
, so I left a note for him to call me about the fund-raiser. I was real sure the lure of ad money would get him on the phone
lickety
-quick.

Before I made another stop, I decided it best to unload my groceries. It would allow me to check in on my man too. Probably he’d be dead to the world, but my stomach was howling its woes and I needed to snack before I messed up my sugar levels and landed my backside in the doctor’s office. I had only to think on such an unpleasant thing to get myself walking faster.

When I stepped into the house, I immediately noticed a strange scent in the air. I sniffed again,
then
listened real hard. A metallic clinking sounded real close. I took one step into the kitchen so I could see everything crystal clear, and got an eyeful of Hardy’s hind-end sticking out of the corner cabinet where I kept the lids to my pots and pans.

“What are you doing?”

Something was boiling over on the stove. I set down my bags, snapped the burner off and shoved the pot to a cool eye.

Hardy jerked backward and popped his head up like a prairie dog.
“Making myself something to eat.
Can’t find a lid to the pot.”

I eyed the lump in said pot.
White.
Pasty.
Gunky
.
“What were you trying to make?”

“Potato soup.”

Being a diabetic, potatoes weren’t high on my list of foods to have on hand. “I don’t have any potatoes.”