4 Four Play (22 page)

“No, it isn’t. You know they have a habit of lying for each other.”

I cringed at Snowflake. “True,” I said.

“And we checked at Hastie’s. They only stayed for one cup of coffee. Your friend Roslynn had plenty of time to go out to the school afterwards.”

“Okay, but what about size?” I asked. “Whether or not she really was with Billy Joe, and whether or not she had much of a motive, Roslynn is simply too small. She could not have carried Miriam Jilton’s body across that parking lot.”

Wilson conceded that I had a point. “And strangling someone would have ruined her manicure.”

I thought about other options—or rather, the suspects. “So who was it?” I asked.

“It’s your life, Darlin.’ You tell me.”

I like to think I have a good imagination and a healthy dose of intuition, but I truly had no idea.

“Last night it seemed so clear this was all about me. But now?” I shook my head, exasperated. “I am still sure of one thing, though. This was not about Miriam Jilton.”

“I agree.”

“Really?”

“You’re on to something, Jessie. We just have to figure out what.” He stood up and held out a hand.

“What?” I asked.

“Shoot a game of eight ball with me. I chop celery, you shoot pool. Remember?”

I allowed him to pull me to my feet.

“Beat the pants off me,” he whispered in my ear, and I pointed to my stack of
Sensual and Scintillating
.

“Maxine Carlisle devotes a whole chapter to that sort of thing.”

Chapter 28

“My game is off lately,” I said as we made our way downstairs and outside.

“I know what would improve your game,” Wilson said.

I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess. Our wedding would miraculously solve that problem, and all others.”

“Happily ever after on the shores of Lake Lookadoo.”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “You, me, and the three cats. One big happy family, all cozy-like in a shack with supposed plumbing.”

“Everyone else calls it a cottage.”

“Everyone else has running water.”

I pushed the button to cross Sullivan Street and pointed up at my windows. “How about happily ever after high above the streets of Clarence?” I asked. “You and your cats could just as easily move in with Snowflake and me.”

Wilson waved to the traffic streaming by us. “I need peace and quiet when I’m not working.”

I waved to the neon sign hanging above The Stone Fountain. “And I need a little life when I’m not writing.”

“Snowflake likes my house,” he argued as we crossed the street.

“Snowflake doesn’t use your shower.”

He opened the door to the bar. “Come on, Jessie. I almost always have running water.”

“That’s what Willow LaSwann told Kipp Jupiter just yesterday,” I said. “And look at the mess she’s in now.”

***

It was Motown night at The Stone Fountain, and The Supremes were singing “Someday We’ll Be Together” as we stepped inside.

Wilson made some silly comment about Diana Ross being on his side and sang along. I ignored him as best I could, found my way over to the bar, and told Charlie I hoped he appreciated the mess I was in.

“Trying to plan the perfect wedding?” he asked and high-fived Wilson.

I glared and reached out a hand. “Cue stick!”

He pretended to cower and handed it over, and Wilson and I stepped up to the pool table.

Bless their hearts, the pool table gang seemed to appreciate the mess I was in. And they know me. Or at least they know when I need to shoot some pool. Gus took one look at me, quickly won the game he was playing against Camille, and gave up his cue to Wilson. Kirby Cox started to rack.

Wilson thanked everyone for their cooperation, but Camille doesn’t believe in cooperation. She sputtered something about waiting our turn like everyone else.

“Leave them alone,” Gus scolded her. “Jessie needs to play.”

Kirby agreed. He lifted the rack off the table and waved it back and forth between Wilson and me. “They need to unwind after tonight’s news.”

“Believe it or not, we didn’t think it was that terrible,” I said. “I mean, Dee Dee Larkin didn’t even give Jimmy any air time.” I stepped forward to break, but something about the hush that swept over the gang made me stand up without taking the shot.

My eyes darted back and forth among the mute and apparently stunned spectators and stopped at Wilson. “Did I miss something?” I asked.

“The local news.” He took a deep breath. “We missed the local news, Jessie.”

***

I braced myself and turned to my best buddy Kirby. “Okay, so what exactly did we miss?” I asked.

He bit his lip, begged Wilson not to shoot the messenger, and divulged the unpleasant details.

Jimmy Beak might not have gotten air time with Dee Dee Larkin, but never fear. He had made more than sufficient use of his own local report. He began with the scene of Gabby and I pretending to be bosom buddies, since he was able to cover that live. Then he skipped back to my showdown with Alistair earlier in the day.

“You looked crazy out there,” Camille informed me, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Good old Jimmy was playing right into our hands—broadcasting my craziness for all the world, or at least all of Clarence, to see.

“All this attention is driving me crazy,” I said loud and clear. I took aim and broke, and the four ball disappeared.

I stood up and assessed the table. The one ball looked like a fairly straightforward shot, at least for the old Jessie Hewitt.

I got into position while Wilson continued quizzing Kirby. “That’s it?” he asked. “If so, Beak’s losing his touch. He usually does more damage.”

“Yeah, but you know Jimmy,” Kirby said as the one ball sank. “He couldn’t pass up the chance to give us his own opinion.”

“Of me,” I mumbled. Was the five ball a possibility?

“Jimmy kept harping on Jessie’s undue influence,” Gus said.

“Over people like Superintendent Yikes.” That was Bernie Allen.

“Then he got all hot and bothered about her influence over you.” Camille Allen smirked at Wilson and smirked. “They said she’s corrupted you.”

“They?” Wilson asked. “I take it Pritt gave his opinion, too?”

“You know Alistair,” Kirby said. He pointed to the table. “Are you actually trying for the five?” he asked me.

“I am.” I bent over and made the rather brilliant bank shot.

“Well that’s just great,” Camille sputtered. I doubted she was referring to the five ball, but I thanked her anyway.

“Not that. I’m talking about your boyfriend.” She put her hands on her hips and challenged the various men standing around the table. “Isn’t anyone gonna tell him? Or do I have to do it?”

“You have to do it.” Wilson stepped directly in front of her. “Tell me what?”

“Jimmy Beak wants you stripped of your badge,” she said. “Immediately, if not sooner.”

Needless to say, all eyes landed on my beau—make that my fiancé—the cop.

But Wilson kept his focus on me. “What did Pritt say to that?” he asked Camille. I had no idea what the guy was thinking, but his voice sounded calm enough.

“Alistair agreed wholeheartedly.” Camille tapped her chin. “How did he put it? Oh yeah. He said Jessie’s destroyed your better judgment.” She smiled at me. “Your shot,” she chirped.

***

I stood frozen, trying to garner Wilson’s reaction.

“Camille’s right,” he told me. He twirled an index finger over the pool table. “It’s still your shot.”

Perhaps Wilson Rye was calm enough, but trust me. I had had just about enough of the Beak-Pritt duo of destruction. And I would have taken my frustration out on the six ball, but Camille was in my way.

“Move!” I snapped, and she jumped aside.

I took aim at the poor unsuspecting six, it zipped across the table at record speed, and obediently dropped into the far corner pocket.

Everyone except Camille clapped, and at the risk of being scolded, Kirby sidled up next to me. “Stay angry,” he told me. “You’re doing great.”

I assured him staying angry at Jimmy and Alistair was exactly what I intended to do and sunk the two. And while I was at it, the three.

Lo and behold, only the seven and the eight remained for me to handle. But what with all those sad stripes in the way, the seven ball was going to be tricky.

Stay angry, I told myself, and lo and behold I managed another bank shot.

“Genius!” Gus shouted, and dear Kirby stood at attention and saluted.

I offered a slight nod and chalked up for the eight ball. “Right corner,” I said and bent down to take aim.

“The million-dollar question,” Wilson announced from across the table.

I stood up. “Excuse me?”

“The million-dollar question,” he repeated loudly. “Is whether you really can run this table.”

Everyone scolded him for breaking my concentration, but Wilson kept staring at me. And I am happy to report, I got the hint.

I raised an eyebrow. “We’ll answer that million-dollar question, Captain Rye. Never fear.”

“I never do, Adelé.” He grinned, and I returned to the task—or rather, the tasks—at hand.

“Right corner,” I reminded everyone and shot in the eight ball.

The gang erupted in cheers. But while everyone was busy celebrating my success, I caught Wilson’s eye.

I dropped my cue stick on the table, he handed his to Kirby, and we managed to meet somewhere in the middle of the crowd. I reached up and gave him a great big hug.

“It wasn’t all about you,” he whispered in my ear.

“No.” I squeezed tighter and whispered in his ear. “It was all about you.”

Chapter 29

“Look at her,” Camille said. “She’s all choked up.”

I let go of Wilson and pretended she had found me out. “I am a bit overwhelmed,” I said. “It’s been months since I’ve played that well.” I made a show of looking embarrassed before I swung back around. “Can we go home now—”

Wilson was already at the exit.

“Wait up!” I called out and raced to catch up.

“Wait!” I tried several more times on my way out the door.

“Would you watch where you’re going!” Wilson shouted from the opposite side of Sullivan Street.

“Only if you wait up.” I stopped to let a stream of cars pass by, and to his credit, he did wait for me to cross the street.

He took me by the shoulders and shook me. “Thank you,” he said. He kissed my forehead, and started jogging away again. No, really.

I rolled my eyes and resumed running.

“Don’t you dare leave without me!” I spoke loudly, but I have no idea if he heard me, since he was already on his cell phone.

But luckily Wilson’s truck is so old it doesn’t have automatic locks. He had to stop and fiddle with his keys, and I was able to catch up.

“Meet me at the station,” he said and clicked off his phone.

“Russell?” I asked as I skidded to a stop.

“Stay out of this, Jessie.” He reached out to keep me from stumbling. “It’s gotten too dangerous.”

“No. Way.” I folded my arms and glared. “Absolutely, positively, no way.”

“You’re a little scary, you know that?”

“Oh, honey, you haven’t seen scary. Just wait until we find this guy.” I pointed to the passenger door, and Wilson stepped over to open it.

***

“Don’t you want to hear why it was all about you?” I asked as he started the engine.

“I get it.” He backed out of the parking space. “Same thing as before, with one more step.

“They killed Miriam Jilton and left her body on my car to hurt my reputation—”

“—to ruin mine. It’s sick, Jessie.”

I told him he needn’t remind me.

Wilson continued the logic as we turned onto Sullivan Street. “The killer was sure Beak would accuse you of murder when we found a body hanging over your pornographic license plate.”

“My license plate is not pornographic.”

He stopped at a red light and glanced over.

I cleared my throat. “Perhaps it does attract a bit of attention.” The light turned green, and we took off. “But the killer also knew you wouldn’t arrest me on such flimsy evidence.”

“Yep. And he knew Beak would make a big deal about it. Stripped of my badge. I’ll give him stripped of my badge.”

I reminded Wilson that Jimmy Beak never did clamor for my arrest, but we agreed he never had to.

“Not once Pritt got involved.” Wilson hit the gas. “Me and the Queen of Smut.”

“Maybe they’re in cahoots,” I said as the city whizzed by. “Maybe Jimmy planned this with Alistair when he realized he couldn’t accuse me of murder.”

“But think, Jessie. That was only after the murder. After. And Beak has an alibi, remember?”

I was still thinking when the police station came into view. “They really wouldn’t fire you?” I asked. “Because of me?”

“No.” Wilson spoke firmly. “Beak doesn’t rule the police department. No matter what he, or the public, or the murderer might like to think.”

“But Jimmy can still make your life miserable.”

Wilson agreed I was the voice of experience on that one, and I frowned at all the patrol cars as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Maybe I should change careers,” I suggested. “I could do something wholesome. I could write children’s books.”

Wilson drove over a curb.

“Jessie!” He pulled the truck to a complete stop. “Don’t joke around like that. Not while I’m driving.”

“But I’m serious.”

“Well, don’t be. You’re in a slump, but the Queen of Smut will rise again.” He pulled the keys from the ignition. “In the meantime, let’s nail this bastard.”

“Jimmy, Alistair, or the murderer?”

He raised an eyebrow. “How about all three.”

***

Lieutenant Densmore was already in Wilson’s office, poised in front of the computer, when we arrived. Without saying a word, he got up and rolled another chair behind the desk. Russell may be chivalrous, but I knew that chair wasn’t for me. While I closed the door, the two cops sat down and got to work.

“Someone’s out to get me,” Wilson said as Russell booted up who knows what.

“It wasn’t all about me.” I squeezed in behind them to see the computer screen. “It was all about Wilson.”

Russell scowled. “Really?”

“Think about it,” Wilson said, and I could almost see the very sharp gears inside the lieutenant’s head spinning.