I’d thought that myself more than once. Focusing on the woman next to her, I explained about Arlene Dunn. “The woman with the markerhead look like she’s used a hair color three shades too dark is the Widow Dunn.”
Turning to see his reaction to me referring to someone like it was the eighteenth century, I saw his eyes narrow to slits.
“The Widow Dunn? Are we Puritans now?”
“I don’t know why she wants to be called that, but if you ever speak to her and call her anything but the Widow Dunn, you’ll get a lecture on how a woman of her stature who has had to deal with the unfortunate circumstances life has heaped upon her should be expected to be referred to in that very way.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. She doesn’t look like she’s even fifty years old. How long has she been a widow?”
“A long time. She married some guy who was more sugar daddy than anything else and since he died when I was just a kid, she’s been the Widow Dunn.”
Alex took a drink of his scotch and shook his head. “This place is like going back in time.”
I continued describing the final two members of the committee so he could know the players. “The older woman with the red hair on the right of the widow is Eleanor Girard, whose husband is sitting over there drinking his second whisky.”
“The First Lady?”
“Former,” I corrected him. “That’s her entire claim to fame.”
“I do love an accomplished woman,” he said with a sneer in his voice.
I chuckled and moved on to Eileen Matthews. “The last woman is the woman who taught me American Literature in junior year in high school—Miss Eileen Matthews.”
“Now there’s an old maid. Every cell in her body screams she’s going to be single forever,” he said in my ear.
I turned to see him grinning at me. “Nice. You’re going to fit in here in Sunset Ridge perfectly. Maybe we can call you the Retired Detective Montero.”
“Don’t get angry. I just call them as I see them.”
I felt bad for my fellow single female Eileen and waved his justification away. “Just listen. Now that they’ve gotten the minutes read and decided what they should talk about on tonight’s agenda, it will just be a matter of time before they begin attacking Geneva like a bunch of jackals.”
True to form, it didn’t take the four women long to move from patting themselves on the back for planning the best Founders’ Day celebration ever to carving up the life of our murder victim. Even Alex was surprised at how quickly they set aside their task for the night to savage Geneva’s reputation.
“Have you heard they think it was some random man who was trying to rob her?” Eileen Matthews asked. As the only committee member who had any shred of kindness in her, I wasn’t surprised she was willing to think Geneva’s death wasn’t tied up in some sordid mess from her personal life.
Plus she was as naïve as they came, so naturally, she would think in the most innocent terms.
Alex whispered in my ear, “Your old high school teacher there sounds like Derek.”
I shushed him to continue to listen to what the ladies had to say about Eileen’s question. Eleanor Girard piped up quickly with her answer, and as I suspected, it was full of venom and a complete lack of respect for the dead.
“Poppycock! I stand by my initial statement from when I first heard about that woman’s death. Finally, one of the women she wronged by sleeping with her husband got her just revenge and Geneva got her just desserts.”
I so wanted to jump down off my barstool and ask why she thought that. Was it because she wanted that to be what happened or did she know something and hadn’t come forward to tell Derek yet?
“I know she’ll probably talk to you, Poppy, but let her go. People are freest with their opinions when they think they’re safe and among friends. Plus, maybe she’ll give up a name we haven’t heard yet in this case,” Alex said, obviously sensing how much I wanted to barge in on their get-together to ask some questions.
He was right. I knew that, but I desperately wanted to try out some of the techniques I’d learned by watching him that day. We listened to the Widow Dunn agree with her while Mrs. Scanlon hung back, likely because she feared at any moment they’d accuse her since even though she denied it, her husband had been named as one of Geneva’s supposed lovers more than once.
“Enjoying the show?” a voice slurred next to us. “What’s on the television is way more interesting. Trust me.”
I turned at the same time as Alex to see Jefferson Girard, the former mayor of Sunset Ridge, watching us spy on his wife and her decorating committee friends. Sure he knew what we’d been up to, I quickly flashed him a big smile.
“Hi, Mayor! How are you tonight?”
With his wispy hair that barely covered his head despite his comb-over attempt and jowly face, former mayor Jefferson Girard reminded me of every corrupt politician Hollywood had ever put up on a movie screen. Corpulent in a way that didn’t look jolly but always over-indulged, he teetered on his barstool as he downed the last drops of his third whisky for the night.
“I’m fine, Poppy. Just fine. How are you and your friend here?”
“Have you ever met Alex, sir? He’s a former detective from Baltimore up here now. Alex, this is the former mayor of Sunset Ridge, Mr. Jefferson Girard.”
Alex extended his hand to shake Mr. Girard’s. “Alex Montero. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”
“Detective? From Baltimore? Did the Hampton brothers bring you up to work on the Geneva Woodward case?” he asked, slurring his words even more.
“No, no. I’m retired from the force for a few years now. Moved to Sunset Ridge to make a new home for myself. I didn’t expect to find a murder up here, though.”
Jefferson Girard puffed out his barrel chest and a bit too loudly bragged, “Never on my watch. This town used to be safe. Even the likes of Geneva Woodward didn’t have to worry.”
Every muscle in my body twitched as his last sentence left his mouth. Even the likes of Geneva Woodward? That didn’t sound right. If anything, the politicians in town always kowtowed to people like her, so why was the former mayor slamming her like she was some common streetwalker? A consummate politician, who I’d rarely seen without a smile on his face while he was in office, he never spoke ill of anyone.
Alex gently pushed his forearm against mine to signal me he had picked up on that strange comment too. Waving toward my father at the other end of the bar, he said in Girard’s direction, “Let me buy you a drink, sir. Joe, another whisky for the mayor.”
I hoped he wouldn’t be driving since his bleary, bloodshot eyes already said he’d had enough. Alex obviously wanted to get him and his tongue as loose as possible, and what better way to do it with a hard drinker like Girard than to ply him with more alcohol?
He accepted the glass of whisky and raised it in the air toward the two of us. “To retirement! May yours be as enjoyable as mine has turned out.”
We raised our glasses and toasted his retirement, all the while I sat there wishing Alex would get to asking him questions before the decorating committee broke up or Girard got stone drunk and couldn’t give a coherent answer. My partner sensed my eagerness and pushed his forearm against mine once again, but a minute or so later, he began feeling the mayor out on what he thought of Geneva.
“It must be quite a shock to everyone around here to have a murder occur. Back in Baltimore, it happened all the time. Too often, unfortunately. But here in Sunset Ridge, it’s got to be rare.”
The former mayor nodded solemnly and tipped his glass for a gulp of whisky. “It is. Things like that just don’t happen in small towns like ours, do they, Poppy?”
“No, sir. And certainly not to people like Geneva Woodward,” I said, knowing I was probably rushing things along a bit faster than Alex preferred but by the way Jefferson Girard was beginning to sway on his barstool, I wasn’t sure we had much time left to get any real answers out of him.
He snorted in d
erision at my mention of Geneva and twisted his doughy face into a look of disgust. “People like Geneva. She was nothing more than anyone else in this town. Less than some, I’d say.”
“As mayor, you must have known her since I’m sure you knew everyone in town,” Alex said in a voice similar to the one he’d used on Shelley earlier that day.
Girard took a mouthful of his drink and banged the glass down onto the bar. “Oh, I knew her. I knew her all too well. Her type is always right there from the minute you come into office. You want to serve the public. You want to make your town better, but her type never wants to help. They could. They have more than enough. But they don’t. All they want to do is complain.”
I couldn’t imagine what Alex could say to that to get him to open up even more. He clearly had a problem with her, but why? I’d never heard anything about a feud between them.
“Running for office and leading a town like this is hard, I imagine,” Alex said. “Everybody wants their own way, and a leader has to make tough decisions.”
Girard’s eyes opened wide, and he nodded. “Yes! It’s not as easy as everyone thinks. And despite what some may think, no one is better than anyone else, even if they do have money.”
I felt Alex’s body tense up next to me and knew the next question would be far more pointed.
“They say she was killed in the middle of the night. I’m thinking most people in town are asleep by that time, so it might be hard for the police to find witnesses. Did you happen to be awake to see anything? I imagine you live in that same section of town, you being such an important person in Sunset Ridge.”
The former mayor’s temper flared, and he angrily pointed his finger, stabbing it toward us. “Are you accusing me of something, son? How dare you! I’m the mayor of this town!”
Alex tried to smooth his ruffled feathers, but Jefferson Girard slid off his barstool to stand, his finger still pointed directly in our direction. “I was home with my wife all night, as I am every night,” he slurred as he took a step toward us. “You’re not even a cop in this town, so I don’t have to say another word to you.”
We sat there stunned at how angry he’d turned so quickly, but before he could say anything else, his wife ran out of the back room clutching her purse and her binder and grabbed a hold of him. She ushered him out of the bar as the other three women followed like ducklings in a row behind her.
“I guess the monthly meeting of the Sunset Ridge Decorating Committee is over,” my father said with a chuckle as he cleared off the bar where Jefferson Girard had sat.
Elbowing Alex, who sat silently finishing his drink, I teased him. “Maybe you should stick to talking to female suspects, and I can talk to the male ones since you had much better luck with Shelley.”
He couldn’t help but smile at my jab and nodded. “Fair enough, but you have to admit the former mayor sounds like he had a real problem with Geneva.”
Excited to hear he and I were on the same track with Girard, I asked, “So are we thinking the former mayor is a suspect?”
He took a sip of his drink and let the scotch sit in his mouth before swallowing. “Yep. We have our second suspect.”
“Great! And here I thought all we might get was some dirt on Geneva’s life from the committee ladies that could point us to whoever was visiting her for those midnight rendezvous. But isn’t Girard our third suspect? You’re forgetting the mystery man.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe not.”
Chapter Eleven
After the excitement at the bar the night before, I awoke eager to get to work searching for clues about both of our known suspects and their relationships to Geneva. I doubted Shelley was ever as close to our victim as she claimed, and Jefferson Girard’s outburst at the mere mention of Geneva was definitely interesting, to say the least.
Rolling over in bed, I looked over at the night table and saw my phone blinking. Someone had texted me. Quickly, I swiped the screen to see who had contacted me, happy that it was unlikely my father since he’d never used a phone for that reason in his life. Joe McGuire was nothing if not old school.
Highlighted was a message from a number I didn’t recognize. I opened it and saw an invitation.
Meet me at The Grounds at 9.
Confused as to who had sent it, I messaged back.
Who is this?
Seconds later, another text came in.
Alex.
Alex? I didn’t remember giving him my number. True, I should have since we were working together on this case, but I hadn’t, so how had he gotten it? It wasn’t like cell phone numbers were listed in the phone book.
Curious, I typed out yet another question.
How did you get my number?
Again, just seconds later, he texted back.
Detective. Remember?
I couldn’t help but smile. For all that seriousness he often showed, he could be quite funny. Texting back, I asked my question again.
Enough with the detective thing. Really how did you get it?
As I waited for his answer, I tried to figure out when he could have gotten my number. Had he lifted my phone out of my purse at some point? Funny and cute was one thing, but invading my person was something entirely different. If he had done that, Alex Montero was about to find out how unkind and how like the rest of Sunset Ridge’s residents I could be.
But then he messaged back, and I couldn’t be mad at him.
I saw your number on Derek’s desk when I went to see him yesterday. So have you interrogated me enough to meet at The Grounds at 9?
Okay, so he wasn’t a pickpocket. Good. Looking at the time, I saw it was already after eight and I remembered I had to be at The Eagle before noon to get some work done on my weekly article.
Okay, but I might be a little late. I’ll be there, though.
Tossing my phone on the bed, I hurried to the shower without even having my first cup of morning coffee. Such was the punishment for oversleeping.
Alex waited for me with a coffee and a cherry danish at the same table we’d sat at yesterday. The Grounds was nowhere near as crowded this morning, although I was far later making my first appearance of the day.
Jennie waved at me as I walked toward the back of the shop and said in a low voice as I passed, “Are you and that guy together, Poppy? He is one sweet catch.”
I’d never heard her speak about anyone like that since we weren’t exactly friends. Surprised at her comment about Alex, I simply smiled and shook my head. “No. We’re not like that. Just friends.”
Twirling her blond hair around her finger, she looked back at him as he sat waiting and then looked back toward me. “You’re missing a fine opportunity, hun. If you don’t move quick, somebody’s going to snatch him up and then you’ll be stuck in the friend zone.”
I had to roll my eyes at the friend zone comment. Whatever zone Alex and I were in, I was happy with where we stood.
“Thanks, Jennie. I’ll talk to you later.”
She accepted my noncommittal brush off, but as I walked away I heard her say, “I wouldn’t be ignoring that if I had the chance.”
I reached the table and sat down across Alex, who sat there with his arms crossed studying the rest of the coffee shop customers. “Sorry I took so long.”
“No problem. It gave me time to do some people watching. Interesting stuff. By the way, I thought you handled the waitress pretty well.”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I saw what looked like a twinkle in his eye. “You’re all the rage here in town, it seems. Did you see the way the ladies looked at us as they were leaving the bar last night? I could almost read their minds. They wanted to know if we were together.”
A slow grin spread across his mouth, and his eyes twinkled a little brighter. “Oh well. Nothing like being consigned to Poppy McGuire’s friend zone.”
“Can we get down to business and leave the silliness to the rest of Sunset Ridge’s residents? I can’t tell you how much it means to me to k
now someone who doesn’t get involved in the nonsense. I’d hate to have you disappointment me and become like everyone else here.”
He took a drink of his coffee and said, “I’ll do my best. So you’ve had a few hours to think of our two suspects. Any ideas?”
I thought for a moment, but it was too early for me to be doing any real detective work. “I haven’t even had a first cup of coffee yet, Alex. How about you take the lead this morning?”
“Okay. So far we have two people who in varying degrees seem to have had a problem with our victim. Shelley Steadman, the new money on the block, acts like she and Geneva were the best of friends, but do we have any proof of that?”
I thought about never seeing the two of them together and shook my head. “None at all. I’ve seen Geneva Woodward go to Diamanti’s a few times a week for years and never once have I seen her with anyone, including Shelley. It seems odd to me that if they were so close that they wouldn’t at least eat dinner together once in a while.”
Alex agreed. “So she likely lied about how close she and Geneva were.”
“Or really thought they were that close and suddenly that night found out they weren’t,” I added.
“Very good. That coffee must be kicking in.”
Pleased with my ability to see something he considered valuable, I continued on with what might have happened that night between Shelley and Geneva. “Okay, so assuming she found out that the person she desperately wanted to be like didn’t much like her, did she become enraged and strangle Geneva? She did almost let it slip that she wanted to call her a bitch when I talked to her.”
“Maybe. I’m not convinced Shelley is our killer, though.”
I watched as he folded his arms across his chest again. To be honest, I didn’t feel very strongly about Shelley as the killer either.
“She would have had a hard time committing the crime if she can’t even carry a tray with iced tea and cookies,” I wondered aloud. “What did she say she had a problem with?”
Alex reached into his coat and took out a small notepad like the one I used for my job at The Eagle. Flipping through the pages, he stopped after four or five and said, “She said she couldn’t lift anything heavy because of all the years she’d worked.”
The Eleventh Hour Page 11