Nickeled-And-Dimed to Death (11 page)

I gave a polite laugh, but I didn’t like his answer. I would definitely need to chat with Boone about his choice of attorney.

“What else should we do?” Poppy asked. “I could do a Mata Hari on one of my father’s guys and get the inside scoop on what the cops know.”

I could tell from Tryg’s expression that he was considering her offer, so I vehemently shook my head at him. All we needed was to tick off Chief Kincaid. It would be bad for Boone and probably worse for Poppy. Not to mention the poor officer she chose to seduce, suck dry of information, and discard.

“We’ll keep that option in reserve,” Tryg said to Poppy, then winked at me. “I can legally get most of the facts that the police possess, so why don’t you two concentrate on finding out everything you can about Elise and her husband, Colin Whitmore? Especially any enemies they may have.”

“His enemies, too?” Poppy asked. “But she’s the one who was killed.”

“Husbands and wives are often collateral damage for each other,” Tryg explained, leaning back. “Which is why I sure wish Boone had taken my advice about not handling divorces. I told him there’s always one that comes back to bite you in the butt.”

From Tryg’s expression, I could tell that he was speaking from personal experience. What was the story behind that?

CHAPTER 11

P
oppy and I left the B & B at a little past noon, and as soon as we got into the car, I phoned Noah to update him. After hearing me out, he reported that he had already gathered some interesting material about the Whitmores’ divorce, but he wanted to check out one more fact before he met us.

Although I assured him there was no rush, he told me he’d be at the restaurant in twenty minutes. As I pulled into the street, I relayed to Poppy what Noah had said and headed into town.

Poppy’s excited chatter about Tryg, “the hot lawyer,” droned from the passenger seat while I drove us to the Golden Dragon. I absentmindedly responded to her comments as I thought about seeing Noah again. He said he understood why I had left the dance the night before, but the teenage Noah had tended to hold behavior like that against me. That younger Noah had been hurt and angry if I chose to spend time with my friends instead of him. Had he really changed? Or was the adult Noah just better at hiding his feelings? And why did I care so much whether he had?

Not wanting Poppy to notice my preoccupation and question me about it, I forced myself to focus on her remarks about Tryg. I could tell that she was already half in lust with him, and, like most men, he’d definitely appreciated her charms. However, I had a feeling he wasn’t the typical guy that she could beguile, then throw away. He seemed more the type to use than be used.

Reminding myself that Poppy could take care of herself, and would neither appreciate nor heed my warning about Tryg, I turned in at the restaurant’s entrance.
Shoot!
The parking lot was packed. Was everyone in town eating here? It took all my concentration and Poppy’s cunning to find an empty spot, but finally she pointed out a set of backup lights one row over.

I cut off a black Escalade that was trying for the same space, then whipped my BMW into a slot that had just been vacated by an old blue pickup truck. The Cadillac’s owner wasn’t happy with the outcome, but Poppy and I ignored his shouting and fist shaking and strolled toward the restaurant without acknowledging his bad behavior.

A year or so ago, after the Methodists put up a new church near the highway, they sold their old building to the current owners. I was eager to see how the interior had been renovated from a place of worship to an eatery. Apparently, so was everyone else in Shadow Bend, since the line for a table extended all the way out to the sidewalk.

Surprisingly it didn’t take long for Poppy and me to make it inside the door. The smells of ginger, soy sauce, and other exotic aromas greeted us as soon as we stepped over the threshold. Ten minutes later, we were giving the hostess the number of our party.

As usual, Noah had impeccable timing and showed up just as we were being seated. He greeted Poppy with a hug, but I moved casually out of his reach. He frowned, then the corners of his eyes crinkled and he took a step toward me, but the hostess, a stunning Asian woman in her early twenties, glided between us.

She smoothed her gorgeous red silk cheongsam over her slim hips and said in a melodic soprano, “Dr. Underwood, I didn’t know you were the one joining these ladies, or I would have put them at your customary table.” She laid a delicate hand on his arm. “If you can wait a teeny tiny bit, I can move you and your party there.”

The restaurant had been open for only six weeks and Noah already had a regular table? I arched my brow at him and he shrugged. Shaking my head, I once again realized that Noah had it all—money, good looks, social position. And that didn’t even take into account that he was the town’s beloved doctor.

Noah patted the hostesses’ fingers. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone, but if the back booth is available, that would be great.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Doctor,” she assured him. “Follow me.”

As we trailed her, Noah murmured into my ear, “I thought it would be better if we had some privacy, and the reason I like this table is that it’s a little apart from the others and behind a screen.”

“That’s perfect.” I tried to keep the resentment out of my voice. “You’re right. It’s best if we aren’t overheard.” It wasn’t his fault that folks fawned over him or that his father hadn’t disgraced his family name. And, to be fair, I hadn’t ever seen him either ask for or abuse the privileges that people showered on him.

Once Noah’s admirer had cleaned off the table, handed us menus, and reluctantly departed, the question of who would sit where arose. I quickly slid onto the bench on one side of the booth and dragged Poppy in after me. She rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. When the three of us were settled, we flipped open the large red leather folders.

As with many Chinese restaurants, the menus were multipage. My mouth watered as I perused the many choices. It had been ages since I’d had Asian food—probably since I quit my job and bought the dime store—and I could hardly wait.

Given that Noah was a regular at the restaurant, I asked him, “What do you recommend?” I was happy to try almost anything.

“Kung pao chicken is my favorite, but the moo shu pork is a close second. I love the plum sauce.” He grinned. “I could order one and you could order the other and we could go halfsies.”

“That sounds good to me,” I said, then looked at Poppy, whose face was still buried in the menu. “Unless you want to go thirdsies. Two entrées are probably enough for the three of us.”

“Nope. I’m having ma po tofu.” She flipped closed the laminated pages and crossed her arms as if daring us to disagree. “And I’m not sharing. If there are leftovers, they’re going home with me.”

“How about an order of pot stickers?” I asked, admiring my friend’s unabashed appreciation of food and that she never seemed to worry about her weight. Of course, she never seemed to gain any ounce, either, which might explain her indifference to the calories. “Would you be willing to share that?”

“Okay.” She nodded grudgingly. “But I want hot and sour soup, too.”

“Sold.” After we conveyed our orders to the server and poured the tea she brought us, I said to Noah, “So, tell us what you found out about Elise. Why were she and her husband getting a divorce?”

“It took quite a few phone calls, but I finally found someone Elise had confided in.” Noah leaned back and stretched an arm across the back of the booth. “I was surprised there wasn’t any buzz around town, especially once I heard the story.”

“Who did Elise tell?” I asked, curious as to whom she had trusted.

“Vaughn Yager,” Noah answered. “He was only willing to tell me about it after I assured him we needed to know in order to catch Elise’s killer.”

“That was very loyal of him,” Poppy commented.

Vaughn had been a classmate of mine. His father had been the school custodian, and, like me, he’d been a victim of the other kids’ rejection and teasing. These days he was a different person. After making a fortune playing professional poker, he’d had his nose straightened and gotten a chin implant, then come back to town, bought a factory that was in bankruptcy, and turned it around. Now he was a successful, sought-after bachelor—a regular pillar of the community.

“How did Elise become friendly with Vaughn?” I asked. “Was she originally from Shadow Bend?”

“No. She moved here with her husband.” Noah consulted an index card he’d pulled from his pocket. “Elise and Vaughn met when the ad agency she worked for did a campaign for his factory.”

“You know the definition of
advertising
, don’t you?” Poppy asked, then answered before either of us could respond. “It’s the science of freezing human intelligence long enough to get money from otherwise smart people.”

“Very funny.” I shook my head. Poppy had a really twisted sense of humor. “So, Vaughn and Elise were friends. Was he the reason her marriage was ending?”

“No, they just both liked to play bridge.” Noah tapped the index card on the tabletop. “Elise’s husband didn’t play and she needed a partner. Vaughn’s pa—”

Poppy interrupted, “Forget the background stuff and get to the good part: the cause of the divorce.”

“Elise caught her husband at a motel with their twenty-two-year-old pet sitter,” Noah answered. His expression was difficult to read.

“The Cattlemen’s?” Poppy clarified, and when Noah nodded, she
tsk
ed. “How much of a moron is Colin Whitmore? If you’re going to screw the help, at least go to the hotel in the next town to do it.”

“How did she catch him?” I asked, not well versed in tracking down cheating husbands or boyfriends. Although now that Jake was marshaling with his ex-wife, that might be a talent I should cultivate. That is, if he was still my boyfriend. A little detail that was currently unclear.

“Lindsey Ingram, one of Elise’s coworkers, saw Colin’s car in the Cattlemen’s Motel when he should have been at work,” Noah explained.

“How did Lindsey know it was Colin’s?” Poppy asked, then answered herself. “He’s got a vanity plate, doesn’t he? What does it say?”

“CMP WZD,” Noah answered. “He’s the bank’s computer wizard. He started out there fourteen years ago as an intern and has stayed ever since. My mother mentioned that his boss says that Colin’s fingers are a blur when he’s at the keyboard. And that it’s truly miraculous what he can do with a PC.”

“Interesting,” I mused, then felt a flash of sadness. Elise’s husband must have been there when my father worked at the bank. It could be awkward if I needed to talk to Colin. Would he see me as Dev Sinclair, successful business owner, or as Dev Sinclair, daughter of Kern Sinclair, embezzler and drunk driver?

Poppy must have known what I was thinking, because she squeezed my hand and changed the subject. “Does Lindsey live in town, too?”

“I’m not sure.” Noah paused while our soup was served; then when the waitress left, he continued. “The ad agency they both work for is in Kansas City, so she might live there. She was dropping off something for Elise, who was home sick that day with the flu.”

“What did Elise do when her colleague told her about Colin being at the motel during working hours?” I asked as I dipped my spoon into the rich soup.

“She went to the motel, and when she caught Whitmore with his pants down, she Maced him and spray-painted a giant red A on the pet sitter’s bare chest.” Noah didn’t quite succeed in keeping his lips from turning up. “I can’t imagine how the poor woman got the paint off.”

“How did Elise find out what room they were in, let alone get the door open?” I asked.

“I bet she bribed the clerk for the number and the key,” Poppy guessed.

“Right you are,” Noah confirmed. “Once I got the scoop from Vaughn about Elise catching her husband with another woman, I remembered that my receptionist’s cousin works the daytime shift at the Cattlemen’s and I went over to see him. It took a little persuasion, but—”

“So who was this pet sitter?” Poppy interrupted again. “I’m thinking she might have held a grudge about having her boobs shellacked.”

Noah leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Willow Macpherson, but no one, not even Vaughn, seems to know it was her.” He paused as the server put the platter of pot stickers on the table.

Once the waitress was gone, Poppy squealed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Noah affirmed. “I have to admit, it surprised me, too.”

“Willow Macpherson,” I repeated. “Where have I heard that name before?” It definitely sounded familiar. I put a dumpling on my plate, used my fork to break it in half, then chewed thoughtfully. Was she one of my basket customers, or had someone mentioned her to me at the store?

Before I could dredge up the elusive memory, Poppy poked my shoulder and said around a mouthful of pot sticker, “Come on. Think. Her picture was on the front page of the newspaper a month or so ago. ‘Local girl makes good.’ There was a huge headline and a two-page story about her.”

Now I remembered. “The young woman who got the big New York book deal.”

Poppy nodded.

“She graduated from college last summer, and when she couldn’t find a writing job, she started a blog that went viral,” I confirmed, then looked from Poppy to Noah, still puzzled as to why it was such a major to-do that she’d been caught committing adultery.

“Do you know what her blog and upcoming book are about?” Poppy asked.

“Not offhand.” I had only skimmed the newspaper article about her, and I hadn’t listened very closely to the customers’ talk at the dime store. I did recall that my high school helper, Hannah Freeman, had been extremely excited about the topic. The only thing I could think of was Willow’s occupation, so I guessed, “Pets?”

“Nope,” Noah answered, as he helped himself to a pot sticker. “Chastity.”

“Cher’s daughter? I mean, son?” I corrected myself. “Willow was blogging about being transgendered?” No, that couldn’t be it. As much as I would like to think that my fellow Shadow Benders would embrace diversity, I knew they wouldn’t have considered Willow changing sexes and publishing a book about it as a local girl making good.