Double Shot (9 page)

Sarina promised to try, and as she buttoned her dress, she was even so bold as to mention that she herself was an accomplished seamstress. And come to learn, Mrs. Dickerson was in search of an assistant!

Thus Sarina Blyss had found employment on her very first day away from home. Lodging also. For Mrs. Dickerson insisted she take up residence in the room above the dress shop, where she could keep a protective eye on her.

Sarina lay in bed, marveling at her vast good fortune. Despite her promise to Mrs. Dickerson, when she finally did close her eyes, her handsome stranger occupied her every dream.

***

I was filling Sarina’s night with some scintillating dreams indeed when the buzzer from downstairs rang, and I remembered my own less than vast good fortune—namely Ian Crawcheck. I took a pre-emptive Advil and buzzed him in.

“What took you so long?” he asked when I opened my door.

I pointed him toward the bathroom, reminded him about Snowflake’s litter box, and returned to my desk. But I had barely gotten Sarina back into the dress shop the next morning, where she was about to encounter the vile constable of St. Celeste and face criminal charges of all things, when my phone rang.

“I’m not disturbing you and Wilson, Jessie?” It was Candy.

“I only wish,” I said. “Ian’s here.”

“Did you kiss and make up?” She gasped. “With Wilson, I mean. You seemed kind of mad last night.”

I told my nosy neighbor not to worry.

“So you did kiss and make up?”

“Something like that,” I mumbled. “Did you call for a particular reason, Sweetie? Aren’t you at work?”

“I’m on break. We’re having a sale on push-up bras. You should come see.”

“No time,” I said and explained that I needed to get some writing done. “What’s up?”

“I have an idea about the Wade On Inn. You know, about the murders?”

Candy sounded excited, but I confessed I hadn’t given the Wade On Inn much thought that morning. “I’ve been too preoccupied with the fascinating goings on in St. Celeste. Sarina Blyss’s luck is about to run out. Her altogether evil sister-in-law Agnes is now claiming ownership of the golden necklace.”

“Huh?”

“So Constable Klodfelder is going to arrest poor Sarina for thievery. Of her own jewelry!”

“Huh?”

“I’m still working out the details,” I admitted, and bless her heart, Candy told me it sounded interesting.

“Kind of like Cinderella, but with an evil sister-in-law?”

“Exactly. But what about the murders? You think you’ve actually figured it out?”

“I do!”

I glanced at the closed bathroom door and stood up to pace. “You are kidding?” I said. “What? Who?”

“Well,” she began. “It occurred to me today when I was helping Mrs. Marachini. She’s one of my best customers, Jessie. She’s really rich, and she comes in almost every week and buys, like, tons of stuff. She likes things with polka dots, especially red polka dots. I always save her sizes for her—“

“Candy,” I interrupted before I learned the rich lady’s cup size. “Does Mrs. Marachini have an idea about the murders?”

“Gosh, I don’t think so. But she’s always complaining about her no-good husband, Mr. Marachini. He wastes all her money. He gambles, just like Spencer.”

The sound of Candy eating something reminded me it was almost time for lunch. I wandered over to the kitchen and started assembling a peanut butter sandwich.

“I take it Mr. Marachini loses his wife’s money somewhere other than at the Wade On Inn?” I asked as I spread the Skippy.

“Well, yeah,” she said. “But don’t you see?”

“Not really.”

“Like, duh! Wilson says Spencer’s been losing his rich wife’s money, right? So maybe he got mad at Fritz and Angela. You know, since he lost so much money to them? Or—” she waited for me to fill in the blank.

“Or.” I did my best to think like Candy Poppe. “Or maybe Spencer’s wife did it?”

“Exactly!” Candy shouted, and I almost dropped the jelly. “Since she was mad about the money. It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

I squinted at Snowflake. “Umm,” I said. “I appreciate you thinking about this. But Dixie Erring hasn’t even been to the Wade On Inn, has she? How would she know who Angela and Fritz were?”

“I bet she was mad enough to kill anyone she saw coming out of the bar.” Candy sounded quite confident. “I bet she was waiting in the parking lot for them.”

“Is she likely to continue on this killing spree?” I asked doubtfully. “I mean, why stop with those two, since Spencer’s still gambling?”

Candy hesitated. “Gosh, I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“And now that he’s losing money to me, am I in danger?”

“Gosh.” She hesitated some more. “I sure hope not.”

I told her not to be too alarmed. “We’ll mention your ideas to Wilson tonight,” I said as I sliced my sandwich. “I’m sure he’ll be interested.”

“What are you wearing tonight, Jessie?” I could almost hear Candy bounce over the phone. “Can I help with your makeup again?”

I agreed that was an excellent plan and reminded her to bring her jewelry, too. We hung up, and I looked at Snowflake.

“I am one brave woman,” I told her. Ian emerged from my bathroom. “Very brave,” I corrected myself.

Ian strolled over to the kitchen and curled his lip at the sandwich poised on the counter. “I see you’ve finally learned how to cook.”

I blinked twice at his wet hair and ordered him to sit down and eat. “I just thought of another chore for you,” I said.

And for this one, he would need his energy.

***

Dear Karen. She called just as Ian took his first bite. Perfect timing, since I needed a few minutes to decide how best to present his new task to him. Or more accurately, I needed a moment to think of a good lie.

“What’s up?” I asked her as I poured Ian a glass of water.

“It’s Bobby Decker, Jess.”

“Oh?” I slid the glass across the counter.

“He and his family have too much history with the place,” Karen continued. “It can’t be just a coincidence that his ancestors used to own the Wade On Inn and half of Belcher Drive.”

“Maybe?” I said.

“I’m thinking the good old boy routine is an act—Bobby’s tougher than he lets on. Did you notice the chipped tooth? I bet he got that in a fight.”

“Did he tell you that?” I noticed Ian studying me and turned my back to him.

“Bobby was sleeping with Angela Hernandez,” Karen added.

“We’re not sure about that,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but either way, I bet she had something on him. Something he didn’t want other people to know.”

“But what about—” I was going to say motive, but remembered the audience behind me, and cleared my throat. “What would his reason be for the other,” I hesitated, “incident.”

“For Fritz Lupo?” Karen thought a moment. “I don’t know yet, but I bet we’ll think of something. And Bobby found the bodies, right?”

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“That’s evidence against him right there. Remember what happened to you when Stanley died on your couch?”

“Don’t remind me,” I mumbled.

“Wilson almost arrested you,” she reminded me. “Bobby must not have known cops are automatically suspicious of people who find bodies. I bet he thought he was throwing them off track. He planned it.”

Ian asked for another sandwich. For a guy who has always insulted my inept cooking, he certainly was relishing his PB and J.

I got out some more bread and considered Bobby Decker. How could he have anticipated the bodies of Angela and Fritz floating downstream and landing precisely on his own property? It seemed rather unlikely.

I put the knife down and stared at my ex.

“Jess?” Karen asked. “Are you still there?”

I snapped out of it. “I’m preoccupied with
An Everlasting Encounter
right now,” I lied. “But I’ll keep your ideas in mind, okay? We can talk this evening.”

“Let’s just hope my feet hold up for another round of dancing. So, Jess.” Karen shifted her tone of voice. “Did you and Wilson kiss and make up last night?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said firmly.

“So you did kiss and make up?”

I told her she was giving me a headache.

“Candy’s the one who does that,” she said and hung up.

***

“And you,” I muttered to Ian.

“And me what?” he asked between bites.

“You give me headaches, but you’ll make it up to me this afternoon.” I winked at Snowflake, who was keeping her distance over on the windowsill. “I have an errand for you out at the Wade On Inn.”

Ian choked.

“I’m working on a scene, you see.”

“No,” he squeaked. “I don’t see.” He gestured for more water, and I refilled his glass.

“This scene involves waterfalls, and I’m picturing the ones at Shinkle Creek.” I tapped my chin and scowled up at the skylight—Adelé Nightingale pretending to contemplate this supposed scene. “I want my description to be accurate, of course, so I need you to take some photographs.”

Ian put down his sandwich.

“I’ll want quite a few shots, from as many different angles as you can manage without falling in,” I continued. “Especially of those largest falls near the edge of the parking lot. While you’re at it, take a few pictures of the parking lot itself, okay? I’ll want to get the perspective just right—”

“Are you crazy?” Ian interrupted. “Since when are your books based on accuracy? And what kind of idiot do you think I am? Risking my ass to get you some stupid pictures? Do you know what’s happened out there? Someone’s likely to shoot me just for the fun of it.”

“A girl can hope,” I mumbled, but then I noticed the sincere look of panic in Ian’s beady little eyes.

I took a deep breath and gave him a pep talk, claiming no one would likely be hanging around there mid-afternoon. “Hopefully you can take your pictures and get away unnoticed.”

“Why the hell can’t you do this yourself?” he asked.

Okay, good question.

“Umm,” I stalled. “I’m working on a deadline.” That sounded plausible, so I kept going. “I need to get
An Everlasting Encounter
done by next week or my publisher will kill me. I simply don’t have time for traipsing out to the Wade On Inn this afternoon.”

“Oh, and I do?”

I tilted my head. “Business has picked up that much since yesterday, has it? It is the weekend, Ian.”

He groaned and asked why he should do me this huge favor.

“Because you want to use my shower facilities.”

“That’s blackmail, Jessie.”

“No, it’s bargaining.” I considered the bargain. “And to make the deal a little fairer, I’ll make you lunch again tomorrow. That is, if you do this favor for me today.”

Ian looked at his empty sandwich plate. “BLT’s,” he grumbled, and I actually smiled. Bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for lunch might be the only thing my ex and I could still agree on.

“Deal,” I said.

“I want that apple-smoked bacon from Wellington’s,” he said, and this time I was the one who almost choked.

“Bacon from Wellington Market it is.”

He squinted at me, considering the offer. “What am I supposed to tell anyone who sees me taking pictures out there? You know, before they shoot me?”

“I don’t know. Tell them you’re bird watching.”

“Bird watching!?” he shouted as I scurried away in search of my binoculars.

I walked back to the kitchen and handed them over. “Do you have a camera?” I asked, and he held up his cell phone.

Chapter 11

Ian finally left, but I still had the disapproving glare from the cat to contend with.

“What?” I asked defiantly and set about making a sandwich for myself. I, too, needed to keep up my energy. Because, deadline or not, I certainly wasn’t planning on writing all afternoon.

First stop on my extended walk? The University of Clarence Library. I climbed the slate stairs leading into the massive building, seriously doubting I would find Kevin Cooper anywhere therein. Librarian, my foot, I said to myself.

The expansive space I entered was filled with people wearing spectacles and sandals, and looking a lot like Kevin. But just as I suspected, the man himself was not at the reservation desk, or the circulation, or reference desks. I walked upstairs to make extra-double sure, as Candy would say, and that’s where I spotted him.

I stopped short. Maybe he really was a librarian? But Kevin was not stationed at a counter doing anything librarianish. Instead he was sitting at one of the large tables provided for the students. I slipped behind the nearest bookcase and commenced spying.

He seemed to be transcribing something onto his laptop. I couldn’t see it, but he must have had a tape recorder on his lap, which in turn was attached to the ear buds in his ears. He typed at a furious pace, but every so often he switched off the machine on his lap and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

What the heck was he doing?

I grabbed a book from the nearest shelf, took the long route around the back of the stacks, and sat down at the table directly behind him. I kept my head down and my nose inside my miscellaneous book, but I was listening intently, hoping to hear what was coming from that machine attached to his ears.

Nothing but indecipherable chatter.

Well, that was altogether unacceptable. Eventually I got up the nerve to turn around. Ever so cautiously I glanced over his shoulder at his computer screen.

Aha! I caught a glimpse of Avis Sage’s name just as Kevin turned to face me. The tips of our noses practically touched.

Oops.

He glanced down and turned off all of his doohickies. I waved at his ears, and he removed the wires.

“Why does Wilson have you working here?” I asked once he was wire-free. He made every effort to look perplexed as I continued, “Is hanging out in here part of your cover?” I pointed to his tape recorder. “Why aren’t you doing that down at the station?”

“Huh?”

“The police station, Kevin. I know what you’re doing.”

“You do?”

“Well, yeah. You’re transcribing what went on at the Wade On Inn last night.” I again pointed to the tiny tape recorder. “I didn’t realize Wilson wanted it verbatim like that.”

“Wilson?” Kevin continued acting confused, but he wasn’t much of an actor.