Dead Ends (Main Street Mysteries Book 2) (16 page)

AnnaLise could feel them looking at her. She sighed. ‘Fine. I'll do it with Daisy's help. But remember.’ She raised a finger. ‘I'll be heading back to Wisconsin at the end of the month.’

‘We're talking the Internet – do it from China for all I care,’ Joy said. ‘Now let's drink on it.’

‘That would be a whole lot easier,’ AnnaLise said, ‘if we had drinks.’

‘I'll go to the bar,’ Duende said, getting to his feet. ‘Red wine, Sheree, and tequila for Joy. AnnaLise, are you sticking with beer?’ He pointed at her empty pilsner glass.

‘Please. Hefe-Weisen.’

‘As good a taste in beers as you have in movies.’ Bowing with a flourish, he left them for the bar.

‘Good taste,’ Sheree said crankily. ‘I hate movies like
Fatal Attraction
. They give me nightmares.’

‘It's just a movie,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Make-believe. If anything should give you nightmares, it's the litany of real-life happenings Joy just recited.’

Sheree shivered. ‘And she didn't even include the very latest.’

‘You mean the Rosewood woman's car going over the cliff?’ Joy asked, earning a glare from AnnaLise.

‘That poor man,’ Sheree said, now tick-tocking her own head, but sadly. ‘Losing the two of them in less than that many days.’

AnnaLise's head jerked around. ‘Two of them?’

‘Why, I'm sorry,’ Sheree said. ‘I thought you must know.’

Joy glanced at AnnaLise and then back to Sheree. ‘Know what?’

‘You neither? Why, however long have you two been in here?’ Sheree asked. ‘It's all over town. There was a shooting.’

‘Where?’ AnnaLise's lips could hardly form the word.

‘On the mountain.’ Duende had come back with the tequila and the wine.

AnnaLise felt herself relax. Maybe she'd misunderstood.

‘The tire on the Porsche?’ Joy said. ‘Sure, we knew about that. Ouch!’ This last as AnnaLise kicked her.

‘The tire was shot out?’ Duende asked, not making a move to go back for the rest of the bar order. ‘By whom?’

AnnaLise and Joy shrugged in unison.

‘Interesting,’ Sheree said. ‘It does make one wonder if the two incidents might be connected.’

‘So there
was
a second?’ AnnaLise asked. ‘Shooting, I mean?’

‘Worse, a double shooting,’ Duende said. ‘Presumably attempted murder/suicide.’

Oh God, oh God, oh God. AnnaLise's brain repeated it over and over again until the words blurred into the dull roar of water rushing over water over rocks, the feeling of going under and never –

‘AnnaLise, are you all right?’ Duende's voice.

The journalist tried to get hold of herself. Ben. Suzanne. Had Suzanne suspected her father of killing her mother and exacted her revenge, then taken her own life? ‘You . . . Did you say “attempted murder/suicide”?’

‘Technically,’ Sheree said, ‘I believe it would be murder/attempted-suicide.’

‘He's dead?’ AnnaLise said in a strangled whisper.

‘No, no.’ Duende was shaking his head. ‘
He’s
the one still alive, more's the pity. Shot the girl in the head and then turned the gun on himself, but either lost his nerve or wasn't much of a shot.’

Lost his nerve, AnnaLise thought. Ben was a good shot. Or so he claimed. But then Ben believed he was a success at everything. And now he'd succeeded at killing his daughter.

But why?

‘. . . in critical condition,’ Duende was saying.

‘Has anyone asked him?’ AnnaLise said.

‘Asked him what?’

‘Why he did it? Why he killed his daughter?’ God help her, she'd almost added,
And his wife
.

Trying to get control of her breathing, AnnaLise closed her eyes again. When she opened them, everyone was looking at her.

‘Whatever are you talking about?’ Sheree asked.

‘Ben Rosewood. Have the police asked him why he killed Suzanne?’

James Duende put his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘I'm sorry, AnnaLise. I'd forgotten that you know these people.’

‘You do?’ This from Sheree.

AnnaLise remembered that while James had been in Mama's when she'd first seen Ben and his family, Sheree had no way of knowing even as much as Duende did.

‘From work.’ Joy was trying to help. ‘Rosewood is – or probably was, given what's happened – the County District Attorney and AnnaLise being a police reporter and all . . .’ She let it trail off.

Sheree shook her head. ‘I'm not sure where you two got the idea that it was Ben Rosewood who killed his daughter, but you have it all wrong.’

AnnaLise sat bolt upright. ‘Ben didn't shoot Suzanne?’

‘Of course not. Whyever would he?’

‘I don't know, but . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Then who did?’

‘Who? Why, Joshua Eames, of course.’

Twenty-one

Joy Tamarack pushed the tequila shot over to AnnaLise. ‘Drink.’

AnnaLise Griggs had nearly chugged the remainder of her first beer and all of the second, so she obeyed her friend, but just took a sip. ‘Ugh.’

‘Don't make faces. James sprung for the good stuff.’ Joy pulled back the glass and downed the rest of its contents, then paused to wipe her mouth before continuing. ‘Sure are glad they left, though. Hard to talk when they're around.’

Right now, the only thing AnnaLise wanted to do less than talk was think.

‘First the wife, now the daughter,’ Joy prattled on. ‘Maybe you’re right about your friend the DA.’

AnnaLise gave another shudder. ‘Don't say that. Don't even think it.’

‘Why not?’ Joy asked. ‘You are.’

‘Actually, I'm trying very hard not to, and you're not helping.’ She waved to get the waitress' attention, but at least this time the woman was busy at another table. ‘Can you get our check?’

Joy ignored her. ‘You honestly don't buy this new murder/suicide scenario, do you?’

AnnaLise shrugged. ‘Apparently the police do.’

‘You don't know that. James and Sheree were just telling us what they'd heard on the TV news tonight.’ Joy held up one finger and used it to do an air-signature on her other palm. Now the waitress actually rushed over to drop the slip of paper on the table before marching away again. ‘Are you going to tell Chuck?’

‘I assume he already knows,’ AnnaLise said, slipping cash out of her wallet for the bill.

‘You know damn well I'm not talking about the shootings.’

‘I do.’ AnnaLise stood up and picked up her jacket from the back of the chair. ‘What would you have me say?’

‘Exactly what you told me,’ Joy said as she hopped off her chair. ‘That you suspect your boyfriend killed his wife for her money and is trying to pin it on you.’

‘Like we said earlier, Chuck is smart. He'll put it together on his own. Right now I'm too tired to think, much less build a case for him.’

‘So you get me all wound up and now you're just going to wash your hands? What happened to the woman who was going to fry?’

‘She found out about lethal injection.’ AnnaLise wound her way between the tables to the door and stopped. ‘I'm sorry to have dumped on you. I know I'm shutting down, but . . . I'm confused. I don't know what to think.’

‘That's why you have me,’ Joy said, pushing the door open. ‘I'll tell you what to think.’

‘OK,’ AnnaLise said stepping out onto the sidewalk. ‘What do I think about Josh supposedly killing Suzanne?’

‘The word “supposedly” is a dead giveaway.’

‘Don't use dead, at least not tonight, OK?’ And maybe never. ‘But . . . I have to admit. I have trouble seeing Josh killing Suzanne. Yes, he has a bit of a checkered past and yes, I understand that people saw them fighting. In fact, the last time I saw them together they didn't look happy.’ She was remembering the two in Suzanne's Camry, leaving the police department as she'd arrived.

‘Only why in the world would he kill her?’ AnnaLise thought aloud, but at least she was thinking again.

‘A good question. An even better one: why would Josh then shoot himself?’

AnnaLise shook her head. ‘I don't know. Lovers quarrel is what people will say. You know, Suze ended it and Josh wouldn't take no for an answer.’

‘Who does that sound like?’

‘You mean, Ben?’ AnnaLise had an idea. ‘Assuming it ran in the family, maybe Josh ended it and Suzanne couldn't take it.’

‘So she killed herself at his house. And then what?’

‘Josh found her and was so devastated, he shot himself?’

‘Have you – at any point, during your worst moments – considered killing yourself over Rosewood?’

‘No, of course not. But then Ben hasn't killed himself.’

‘More's the pity, as James would say.’

‘That's a terrible thing to even mull over silently,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Shame on you, Joy Tamarack.’

‘This from the woman who was seduced by this much older man, who then followed her here and she now suspects of God-knows-what.’

‘He's not much older.’

‘You're twenty-eight and he's what – forty?’

‘Forty-six.’

‘I rest my case.’ Joy stepped aside to let a couple exit Torch. ‘We're blocking the door. Let's go around the corner to your place.’

Why not? AnnaLise wasn't going to get any sleep that night anyway. She preceded Joy down the sidewalk toward the front door. ‘So you've been asking me what I think. What's your theory?’

‘Collateral damage.’

‘Collateral damage?’ AnnaLise stuck the key in the big wooden front door. ‘What's the collateral damage? Tanja's Porsche?’

‘Not what, who. I think Josh was collateral damage. You know, like poor Ronald Goldman in the O.J. Simpson case.’

‘The targeted victim was Nicole Brown Simpson. Doesn't she at least deserve it to be her “case,” not O.J.'s?’

‘Perhaps, but “should be” and “is” are two different things. And you're avoiding the subject.’

AnnaLise unlocked the Griggs' front door and shoved it open, sending it swinging nearly 180 degrees and into the sill of the window on the wall next to it. ‘If you mean by the “subject” Joshua Eames being collateral damage when “my boyfriend” – as you insist on calling him – supposedly killed his own daughter? Yes, I guess I am avoiding it.’

‘There's that “supposedly” again, but I'm not sure I'm buying it this time.’

‘You don't have to “buy” anything,’ AnnaLise mumbled, tossing her purse on a small bench next to the telephone.

‘Listen, I understand completely,’ Joy said, stepping through the door and closing it behind her. ‘After all, it's so much harder to believe that your . . . that Rosewood killed his daughter
and
her boyfriend than that he killed his
wife
.’ The sarcasm virtually drooled from Joy's mouth. ‘You were perfectly happy to speculate about
that
possibility just an hour ago.’

‘That's all it was, speculation.’ AnnaLise flicked on the light over the kitchen table. ‘Daisy must have already turned in, which is good. At least we won't have to relay the latest in Sutherton's checkered recent past just yet.’

‘Very recent past. The body probably isn't even cold.’ Joy pulled out a chair and turned it around to straddle it.

‘Come on, Joy.’ AnnaLise was feeling a little sick. ‘An innocent girl is dead and a young man I've known all his life is seriously wounded. How about you cut the crap for awhile?’

‘Wow, sorry. I always thought you appreciated my rapier wit and unrelenting bluntness.’

AnnaLise almost smiled as she sat down across the table from her friend. After all, this wasn't Joy's fault and she had been nothing but supportive. ‘I admit your candor is . . . refreshing. But best in small doses.’

‘Point taken.’ Joy stretched and started to lean back, only catching herself at the last minute so she didn't tumble off her reversed – and thereby backless – chair. ‘Well, I suppose I should go. It's getting late.’

‘No!’ AnnaLise caught herself in an entirely different way than Joy just had. ‘I mean, we just got here. Maybe I should make coffee.’

‘So I can sober up before walking the four whole blocks to the Inn?’

‘Sure.’ AnnaLise went to fill the coffee pot.

‘You're scared.’ It wasn't a question.

‘I . . . yes, I guess I am.’

‘Of the man you dated and, knowing you, probably thought you loved for . . . how long?’

‘Nearly a year.’ Was AnnaLise truly afraid of Ben targeting her, too?

In some ways, maybe. His air of authority could be intimidating, especially for someone who had been raised in a fairly loosey-goosey all-female household. And his ability to convince, to use words to change opinions. It was a power she admired to a point, but as a journalist she believed in providing unbiased information and letting people make up their own minds. To bend information – or to lift even accurate facts out of context, then stringing them together in an effort to mislead. Yes, it was definitely something she feared. At least if it was turned against her.

But, was she afraid of Ben physically? She'd have said no, until . . .

AnnaLise remembered a day, not very long ago, when someone took a shot at Dickens Hart and Chuck suggested they might have been aiming for her. The chief had been kidding, but just for a moment, AnnaLise had wondered whether –

‘. . . a good thing, at least,’ Joy was saying.

‘Good?’ AnnaLise repeated. ‘I'm sorry?’

‘Hey, if I'm going to refrain from spewing “crap,” as you so genteelly put it, the least you could do is pay attention to my righteous words of wisdom.’

‘You're right and I apologize,’ AnnaLise said sincerely. ‘You were saying?’

‘I was saying that, amidst all this, you may be missing the most important facet of the latest development. At least for you.’

‘For me?’

‘Of course. Don't you see, AnnaLise? Your three theories are, number one,’ she held up a thumb, ‘your district attorney shot his daughter and Josh. Two,’ the index finger joined the first, ‘the police are right and Josh shot Suzanne and then killed himself, or three,’ middle digit joined in, ‘Romeo and Juliet – Suzanne killed herself and then Josh attempted suicide. Right?’

‘You forgot one. Suzanne could have tried to kill Josh and then committed suicide.’

‘Fine, four,’ Joy admitted, raising her ring finger. ‘But do you know what these multiple theories have in common?’

‘They're all crazy supposition?’