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Cardinal Sin

Page 22

by J. R. Ripley

“I’m trying to make it as easy as can be,” I purred, moving my hand along his neck.

  Derek stilled my hand. “She insists on getting a restraining order.”

  “Who does?” And why were we interrupting a romantic moment with talk of restraining orders?

  “My ex.”

  I stiffened. His ex has that effect on me. “On who?”

  Derek hesitated before answering my question. “You, I’m afraid.”

  “Me? What on earth for?”

  Derek frowned. “She says you are a bad influence.”

  “Well, I never—”

  “She also says she is afraid for Maeve’s safety when she is with you.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “I agree. But Amy—I mean, my ex—thinks that because of your snooping—”

  “My what?”

  Derek threw up his hands. “Her word, not mine.”

  I dug my fingernails into my biceps.

  “Anyway, she thinks that you attract a bad element, a dangerous element.” He shook his head apologetically. “And after she heard about how you’d been taken captive by Alan Spenner, well…”

  I buried my face in my hands. The woman was not wrong. In the time I had been back in Ruby Lake, I had found myself in the company of cold-blooded killers and been thrust into dangerous situations on more occasions than I cared to count.

  “What do you think, Derek?” I whispered through my hands.

  “I think she’s wrong,” Derek assured me. “And that’s what I told her. Besides, I told her there was no way a judge would give her a restraining order against you on the basis she was suggesting.”

  Kim’s advice bounced off the walls of my ear canals. Tell him about his ex and Lani. Tell him about his ex and Lani.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I rubbed my face to wipe away the tears.

  “You’re crying?”

  “Sorry.” I snuffled.

  “Look, my ex-wife is a little crazy. She gets carried away. Sees problems where there are none.” Derek chuckled. “Believe me. I know from personal experience. Why do you think we are no longer married?”

  “Why are you no longer married? We never really talked about, you know, what led to your divorce.”

  A sad smile crossed Derek’s face. “We wanted different things, I guess. I wish we could have stayed together for Maeve’s sake.”

  He toyed with the big ring on his finger. It was his collegiate ring from Wake Forest University. “Then again, she’s doing fine now.” He patted my hand. “Trust me. You’re an asset, not a liability.”

  “You are not exactly Mr. Romantic today, are you?”

  “Sorry,” Derek replied. “Shall I quote Shakespeare? Compare thee to a summer’s day?”

  “That’s better than comparing me to Lucretia Borgia.” I pulled him closer. “Give it your best shot.”

  He did.

  * * * *

  I was just turning the sign on the door to Closed when Lani Rice came strutting up the walk dressed in blue jeans and his black leather jacket.

  I thumbed the lock. “Sorry,” I said through the glass. “We’re closed.”

  He banged his fist on the door. “Come on, Ms. Simms. Open up. We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Maybe I’ve been too hard on you.” He lowered his chin. “I’d like to apologize.”

  I hesitated, my finger on the lock.

  “Please?” A vaporous cloud spread a fine film over the glass.

  “Fine.” I unlocked the door and pulled it open. “You can come in, but only for a minute. I’m really rather busy.”

  “Thanks.” He wiped his clunky motorcycle-style boots on the mat.

  “Did you mean it about wanting to apologize?”

  “Sure.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and looked around the quiet store. “Are we alone?”

  “The workers are in the storeroom,” I lied.

  He nodded. “Nice place.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for the apology.” His hands remained in his bulging pockets. Was there a gun in one of those pockets? I retreated a step. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

  “You know that Amy Harlan woman?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, I do. Why?”

  “She’s nuts, isn’t she.” He said it as a matter of fact, not a question.

  “You tell me. I hear that you and she are an item.”

  Lani threw back his head and laughed. He raised the lid of the shelled mixed seed and berry blend and grabbed a fistful.

  What? Was everybody going to start following Jerry Kennedy’s bad habit?

  He tossed the handful into his mouth and chewed. “You know how we met?”

  “At some bar in Charlotte.”

  “Huh?” He scratched his head. “Who told you that?” When I didn’t answer, he did. “Phil. He thinks all blondes look alike.” He reached for a second helping, but at a stern look from me held back. “Sorry. No, I met her at the diner across the street. Actually,” he smiled at the memory, “I was talking up some chick at the counter. Giving it a shot, you know?”

  I held my tongue. Lani and Yvonne seemed to have come from different parents and different planets.

  “Anyway, after the chick ditched me, this Harlan woman comes up, plops herself down on the stool beside me, and says she could use my talents.”

  “What was your response?”

  He shrugged. “I made a play for her. She shot me down and said that wasn’t what she meant. She’s a cagey one. She wanted to talk in private. She suggested we meet later.”

  “And did you?” I resisted saying that I knew they had. The only reason I knew was because I had been spying on him.

  “Sure. At the cabin.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to give me a thousand bucks.”

  “That’s a lot of money. She doesn’t strike me as the philanthropic type. What did she want for her money?”

  Lani grinned. “She wanted me to seduce you.” He aimed his thumb at me.

  If this was a seduction, it was a bad one. Far worse even than Jerry Kennedy’s lame attempt in high school.

  “I told her no.” He moved to the bookshelf and flipped through the pages of a beginning birder’s guide. “I mean, no offense, but if I want to seduce a woman, I’ll pick her myself.”

  “How commendable.” I watched a couple passing by on the sidewalk.

  “The question is,” Lani said, “why would she want me to make a play for you?”

  I knew the answer: to separate me from her ex.

  Lani’s eyes danced mischievously. “I mean, she really does not like you. Again, no offense.”

  I forced a laugh. “None taken.” I moved toward the front door, hoping he would follow. He did. “So you don’t blame me for your sister’s death any longer?”

  “Nah.” He waved his hand in the air. “The police got their man. For what he did to Yvonne, I hope he fries.”

  I opened the door, and Lani stepped out.

  “I only wanted to clear the air,” he said. “And to tell you that you might want to watch your step. This is one freaky town, and that Amy Harlan is one freaky lady.”

  “Tell me about it,” I quipped.

  He had more to say. “She’s the one who told me about you and the Lord of Death you gave my sister. She said you knew it was cursed and were up to no good.”

  “That’s so not true!” I recoiled. “In the first place, I don’t believe in voodoo curses. In the second place, I gave her a bluebird house. My friend gave her the statue.”

  “Hey!” Lani held up his hands. “I’m just saying. Let’s not get all worked up again, right?”

  I took a deep breath. “Right.”

 
“Besides, we don’t have to worry about the Lord of Death anymore.”

  “I wish.”

  “No, seriously. Me, Teddy, and Phil turned him into toast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We tossed him in the fireplace with a few sticks of firewood, some kindling, and an old newspaper and whoosh!” Lani waved his arms overhead. “The guy went up in flames!” He chuckled. “Nothing left of him now but dust and ashes.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “Yeah.” Lani settled back on his heels. “I hear you got the cabin that belonged to that guy in the wheelchair.”

  “Mr. Samuelson, yes.”

  “You want my advice?”

  I didn’t say yes or no.

  “Sell it. You don’t want to live in a place with all that negative energy.”

  “Negative energy? I thought you didn’t believe in such things?”

  “I don’t mean anything supernatural. But that bunch out there at that pond, they are all nutty, if you ask me.”

  I had a feeling they would have said that and more about Lani. “Does that mean you don’t intend to keep your sister’s cabin and call Ruby Lake home?”

  “Not a chance.” Lani zipped up his jacket. “I’m talking to a realtor. Even after funeral expenses, I should be left with a pretty penny. Enough to get me set up on the Big Island. Make some music, ride some waves.”

  “Watch out for boiling lava?” I quipped.

  “Yeah, there is that.” Lani grinned broadly. “Come visit sometime. I promise not to seduce you.”

  Lani winked and strutted down the walk to his van.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of the young man. Like all of us, I suppose he had some good and some bad qualities.

  I secured the door, turned off the lights, and retreated to my apartment for some peace and quiet.

  And alone time.

  Lani had given me a lot to think about. Amy-the-ex seemed to really have it in for me these days. Where was she hiding her good qualities?

  First, she tries to get a man to seduce me, and then she tries to get a restraining order against me—what would she try next?

  I pushed open the apartment door. A dark, moving gray shape caught my eye.

  I screamed.

  26

  “Have you lost your mind?” the dwarf-sized gray shape that was Esther the Pester screamed back.

  Her hair was wrapped up high and tight in bright purple curlers, and her cheeks and forehead held big white blotches of face cream—either that or the poor dear had fallen face-first into that tub of buttercream frosting in the back of my fridge.

  “Esther?” I watched as she glided around the room. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

  “Barbara asked me to water the plants for her while she was gone.” Esther dutifully tipped a bit of water from the jade-green jug in her hand to the potted mums on the table near the window.

  “Why didn’t she ask me?”

  Esther held the watering can over a flowering orange pepper plant. “Would you have remembered?”

  I didn’t bother to respond. We both knew the answer, and it wasn’t going to make me look good. “Why is there an open bottle of Jack Daniels on the kitchen table?”

  “Watering makes my mouth dry.”

  I knew I should not have bothered asking. I fetched a clean glass from the kitchen and poured myself a shot. With a sigh, I fell onto the sofa, drink in hand.

  “What’s the problem?” Esther asked as she carried the watering can to the kitchen sink and left it there. “Wait, I’ll be right back.”

  Esther went down the short hall and helped herself to the bathroom. When she reappeared, her face was freshly scrubbed, and the curlers had disappeared.

  “How do I look?” Esther asked, patting her gray curls.

  “Um, lovely?” I cleared my throat. “I mean, really nice, Esther.”

  “Thanks,” she replied without cracking a smile. “I’m trying something new.”

  If by new Esther meant the Shirley Temple look, she had nailed it.

  “I think it is very becoming.” I figured if I repeated it enough times, it just might be true.

  Esther retrieved her small glass from the table and sat in my dad’s old recliner. She pulled the lever and tipped backward, carefully and skillfully managing not to spill a drop of liquid gold.

  I got the uncomfortable impression that it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. How many times had she been in my apartment previously without my knowledge? Drinking my whiskey and watering my plants?

  And where had she stashed her curlers? Did she keep them in my bathroom?

  I took a sip of whiskey to forget the myriad questions swirling around in my head. I really did not want to know.

  “If you really want to know,” I swirled my drink, “the problem is Yvonne Rice’s murder.”

  “No suspect?” Esther pulled the throw off the back of the chair and down onto her shoulders. “Karl says Chief Kennedy is positive that it’s that Alan Spenner.” Karl was Karl Vogel, the former chief of police.

  “Plenty of suspects, including Mr. Spenner.” I sipped and felt the accompanying burn down my throat. “But no good ones, if you ask me. And no real motives. Again, at least no good ones.”

  “Spenner could have been lying to you. You are the gullible type.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Esther snapped.

  Suddenly, I wanted very much to know, but that could wait for another day.

  “Why not just let it go? Let Chief Kennedy handle it. He says he got his man, and the state police agree.” Esther bobbed her shiny chin. “Let it go.”

  “I can’t.” I frowned. “The whole thing just doesn’t feel right.”

  “You got one of your feelings, huh?”

  I couldn’t tell if she was making fun of me or not. “Too many things don’t make sense.”

  Esther thrust her right hand between the seat cushion and the side of the chair. She pulled out a pair of knitting needles attached to a square of buttery-yellow yarn that was itself connected by its umbilical cord to its mother ship, a baseball-sized ball of yarn.

  What else did she have squirreled around my apartment?

  “Well, don’t just sit there with your mouth hanging open,” Esther said. “Tell me about it.”

  I gaped at her. Esther was crotchety, wrinkly, snoopy, stubborn, and wily—and those were her good qualities. “Okay.” I set my drink down and tucked my legs under me. “I will.”

  I proceeded to tell Esther everything. I explained about the two deaths and what I knew so far. I told her about all the players as well, including Lani and his most recent visit to Birds & Bees.

  At her prodding, I replayed my conversations with everyone who could remotely have been involved in some way with the recent deaths.

  I had talked so long I’d gotten a sore throat. Either that or it was the strong alcohol burning away the lining of my throat.

  “That’s about it,” I sighed. “Spenner told me he didn’t do it. And why does Ross Barnswallow appear to be protecting the man who nearly beat him to death?”

  “Hmm.”

  Esther’s eyes had closed midway through my recitation, so hearing some sound, even a meaningless one, come from her lips, was encouraging.

  I’d thought she had drifted off.

  I forced myself up, muscles stiff, retrieved the bottle of JD, and refilled our glasses.

  “Thanks.” Esther stirred her drink with her pinky, then licked it dry. Her gnarly fingers made come-hither motions. “Tell me about Gar’s death again.”

  “What the devil for?”

  “Precisely.”

  “What?”

  “Boy, you can sure go on and on without really saying anything, c
an’t you?”

  I eyeballed the Pester. Was she drunk? Had her senility kicked up a notch? “Okay,” I began slowly. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was drunk.

  “The Baron did it.”

  “Oh, Esther.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe all this Lord of Death voodoo spirits stuff, too?”

  She shrugged her bony little shoulders and tugged at her skirt. “I’m just saying.”

  “That’s no help at all.”

  Things got a little fuzzy after that. When I woke up, the sun was stinging me in the eyes, and Esther was gone.

  I looked under the chair cushion. Her knitting was still there.

  * * * *

  I met Derek for coffee in the morning across from his office at C Is For Cupcakes.

  The quaint bakery holds a dozen or so small tables. The employees’ uniforms are pink and blue. The pine-topped counter is flanked by two long glass cases filled with every flavor of cupcake imaginable and then some. The bakery’s walls are painted in stripes of pastel pink and blue. The floor is wide-plank yellow pine.

  Every table was filled. The bakery was a popular place to be in the morning.

  “Enjoying the cupcake?” Derek asked with a smile.

  I licked cream cheese icing from my upper lip. “Yep.” I had ordered a cherry cheesecake cupcake with buttercream and cherry topping. “Did you get a chance to reread Gar’s will?”

  “I did.” He reached into the briefcase on the floor at his side and pulled out a file folder. “Here’s a copy for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Derek sipped his coffee and offered me a bite of his cupcake. He had selected a mocha cupcake with an espresso-infused filling and espresso-buttercream frosting—his favorite.

  I took a small bite. I mean, it would have been rude not to.

  “Did you find anything at all in his will that would give some indication of who might want him dead?”

  “Nope. Sorry. Everything he had in life was that cabin and Pep. And everything goes to you.”

  “And since I didn’t kill him, that means nobody had a motive to murder him.”

  “So maybe it was an accident?”

  “I find that hard to believe.” I licked my foil wrapper. My stomach called for a second cupcake, but my waistline vetoed the call. I settled for a sip of coffee. “It just seems like too much of a coincidence.”

 

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