Hammered

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Hammered Page 19

by Ruth Bainbridge


  “We know who they are, Ms. Powell,” Jennings squeezed through clenched teeth.

  What burr was under that guy’s saddle?

  “As I was saying, the only place they could have hidden the money was in my shop … well, not my shop … but at 711 Maple. The guard being shot at that location proves the two robbers were there. Anyway, they must have talked to Dengrove because Dengrove had a new lawyer who found a loophole in which to vacate the previous trial. It means that he—”

  “Would have been out and able to get the money the two hid under the floorboard,” Petrovich finished.

  “Exactly! And even though Patricia Cunningham said that her daughter never communicated with her ex-husband, I believe she did—but at work. Her mother wouldn’t have known about it.”

  “Speculation.”

  “But good speculation,” Petrovich countered.

  Thank God for Craig Petrovich!

  His comment negated the need to stick out her tongue and wiggle it at the surly man she was shunning.

  “As I was saying,” she began anew. “Doris purposely chose that location and opened the restaurant to keep the money safe—and provide a cover for when her husband got out of prison.”

  “But—” Petrovich started to ask.

  “I know what you’re going to say and, yes, Swayzie and Tilbert would still be in prison, But you have to remember, that it was only Tilbert doing hard time. Swayzie’s sentence was lighter. So Dengrove and Doris play babysitter until Swayzie gets out and takes his share… then Tilbert joins him. They’re all happy and they all get a share.”

  “Got it,” Detective Siberian Nights replied.

  “Good!” she exclaimed. “Yeah, Doris and her husband thought of everything, including how they’d be in the clear to spend the stolen money. The income from the eatery would defray suspicion and supply the perfect alibi, but the plan fell apart when her husband was stabbed, so she invented a new one. All she needed to do was continue to keep her eyes on the prize and bide her time …”

  “Which she did.”

  “Yes, which she did,” she repeated. “She kept her place open and was all ready to abscond. Unfortunately, she didn’t know that Swayzie was up for early release, and since she didn’t, she took no precautions when she went to retrieve the money—and walked in on Swayzie. It accounts for the missing hammer. He’d have brought his own tools along to get under that floorboard.”

  Sam had only just finished her summation when the hyena charged.

  “I hate to burst your bubble,” Jennings blasted in that irritating way he had. “But why did Swayzie make a call to you about the money if he had the money? I believe that’s what you’re insinuating? That Swayzie went to retrieve the money on the exact same night Doris Cunningham did? To begin with, that’s an awfully big coincidence, and, secondly, why did Doris close Cunningham’s? So she’d have to break in to get it? Why not just retrieve it and bring it home while she still had the lease? It would make things a lot simpler. How do you explain that or is it that you didn’t even consider how stupid this theory sounds?”

  Jennings had his partner’s attention again. She wilted under the scrutiny.

  “Yeah … well … I sorta haven’t worked that part out yet,” she mumbled, cupping a hand over her mouth.

  “What?” he said, leaning in.

  She tore her hand away.

  “I SAID I HAVEN’T WORKED THAT PART OUT YET!”

  It felt good to destroy his eardrum—for a few seconds anyway. The way she figured it, it was Detective Death’s job to tell her the reason Doris acted the way she did—and not the reverse. So why did she feel embarrassed about not being able to supply answers to the inconsistencies?

  “Thought not,” he quipped as he rubbed his ear. His eyes were bubbling over with glee at catching her wrong-footed. “And for your edification, Swayzie says he didn’t do it.”

  There was a second’s hesitation before she burst out laughing.

  “He didn’t confess? A one-time loser not admitting he murdered Doris and threatened me? Color me shocked!” She pressed her forefinger against her chin before doubling over with laughter.

  Petrovich emitted a chuckle that was shot down by an angry glance from his humorless partner, but it didn’t dampen her merriment. The laughter continued until a pair of hazel eyes locked on her legs made it onto her radar. She’d been so taken up with the events that she hadn’t had the time or inclination of changing out of the drawstring boyshorts and old jogging bra.

  Besides … weren’t the police supposed to be like doctors where flashing skin was concerned?

  Evidently not. So even though she jogged in less clothing than what she had on, she felt positively naked.

  And it was all thanks to that thorn in her side.

  “I think we’re done here.”

  Petrovich to the rescue—again.

  “Not unless you have something else to ask the lady?” he continued, addressing the query to the man who was no longer checking out the exposed portions of her body parts.

  “Nope. I’ve seen it all,” Detective Death retorted.

  “Don’t you mean heard?” she countered.

  He snapped his notebook shut and turned. Good! He was embarrassed. Even better, he was leaving. But just when she thought he was out of her life forever, he performed a 180 and approached.

  “Just one more thing, Ms. Powell. If there is another phone call … another threat … you call us first.”

  Like that would happen.

  Hell could freeze over first.

  Besides, they had their man, thanks to her.

  Wasn’t he listening?

  Her answer was another smile cast in Mr. Siberian Nights’ direction.

  “Thank you so much for your diligence in pursuing this case, Detective Petrovich. I truly appreciate your efforts. And as for you,” she added, locking her focus on the man she wanted on the other side of the door. Wasting no time, she stuck her tongue out and stuck her thumbs in her ears so she could waggle her fingers.

  She was treated to a pursed mouth courtesy of NoBo, but someone else was watching the interplay. The cat attuned to his mistress’ every mood rushed out from his observation spot, slamming on the brakes mere inches from Detective Death’s leg. Taz hunkered down and arched his back, letting out a loud hiss that sprayed Jennings’ pants leg in saliva.

  The hazel eyes assessed the damage and then the cat.

  “I take it this is yours?” he commented.

  “He’s not a this—he’s family! Yes, obviously, he’s mine!” she fired back.

  Scooping up the cat into her arms, she kissed the back of his head.

  “He’s just upset. He doesn’t like people being mean to me.”

  “Seems he doesn’t like much of anything.”

  “Says you.”

  “Figures,” he muttered, walking away.

  “What? What did you say?” she hammered, trailing behind as he and his partner headed to the door.

  “I said, it figures!” he repeated, louder and more heatedly. It earned another hiss from Mr. Cuddles. “Only you would pick out a pet that hates the world as much as you do, Ms. Powell. Have a good rest of the night, and remember what I said about any more calls.”

  The tall drink of Russian vodka-infused water shrugged and followed his cranky partner out the door.

  Samantha planted herself in the archway, staring daggers at the insufferable public servant swaggering to his car while Mr. Cuddles raised his objections by trying to squirm out of her arms.

  “There, there, Tazzy. I know you don’t like him, but you’ll never have to see him again. I’ll make sure,” she promised before slamming the door shut with her foot and mounting the stairs.

  CHAPTER 26

  “And all this went on while I was being wined and dined?”

  “No, it went on after you paid for dinner—and while you were horizontal.”

  Sam’s remark didn’t faze the unflappable Lyddie. Her ex-friend had hear
d too many of those verbal jabs to get riled. Plus, she was sort of proud of her well overflowing while Sam’s went dry.

  “Unbelievable,” Lyddie continued, taking another bite of the breakfast sandwich JAC was now featuring. “But the good thing is—”

  “That the man responsible for Doris’ murder is in jail where he belongs,” Sam finished for her.

  “N-o-o,” her ex-friend drawled as her blue eyes blinked lazily. “I was referring to me getting back with Bailey. He’s ready for a serious commitment this time.”

  “Oh, dear God! And you believed him?” blasted Sam, the air going out of her. Her usually erect posture buckled and curved, but only for a moment before springing back to life. The fight was back, along with her chutzpah.

  “Big mistake!” she continued. “It’s amazing how you’re so logical when it comes to everything else other than that self-centered leech named Bailey.”

  “He’s no more egotistical than Detective Jennings.”

  “Not a good analogy,” Sam retorted. “I’m not interested in NoBo, but you’re throwing your life away on never-had-a-job-he-didn’t-quit Deesing.”

  “NoBo … great job on remembering him, Sam. Who would have guessed the boy who caused droves of pubescent female hearts to palpitate would be back in your life?”

  “Not back. He never was in my life, so it’s not a return,” the woman dressed in a sleeveless, crisp, white snap-front blouse and black skinny jeans countered. “The putz just happened to go to the rival school and possess a peculiar talent of making accurate throws while being tackled to the ground.”

  “It’s a spatial awareness. Gymnasts have the same ability to be able to know where they are in correlation to the ground.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wizard.”

  Her ex-friend shrugged.

  “I thought you’d be interested, but apparently not. But what about Swayzie and those phone calls,” Lyddie segued. “Your theory doesn’t make much sense. I can see why Detective Dreamy called you out on it.”

  “God! Bailey really is rubbing off on you!” she castigated. “You are so much more obnoxious than you used to be.”

  “Surly much? Cheesh! I’m just speaking truth.”

  “I was ready for bed, okay? Excuse me for not being at my peak performance in terms of explaining the bells and whistles, but—” She stopped, pausing to take a sip of the mocha latte.

  “Then you know why Swayzie made the calls when he already had the money?” Lyddie queried.

  “Yes!” Sam replied in a strident tone. “It’s what I’m trying to say! That I did figure it out this morning,” she added before taking a hit of coffee.

  Delish.

  “He was trying to give himself an alibi.”

  “Huh?” her blonde companion said, putting down the sandwich warmed by the microwave.

  “Don’t you see? He was counting on me calling the police and reporting the calls, which I didn’t … couldn’t, actually.”

  “Why couldn’t you?” the girl in the turquoise and white striped top pestered.

  “Because of Detective Death, you dolt! He never would have taken me seriously because he thought I’d conked Doris over her head! But Swayzie wouldn’t know that, would he?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lyddie begrudgingly admitted. “That does make sense … but that other part. Why would he want you to report it?”

  Air was expelled out Sam’s flaring nostrils.

  “Because Swayzie might have been paranoid about leaving behind a clue! Remember, he wasn’t privy to the fact that Jennings is an idiot. He didn’t overhear the conversation I did, so he might have been operating under the erroneous assumption that NoBo would use evidence in figuring out involvement. But if those threatening anonymous calls were attributed to him—”

  “They’d think he couldn’t be guilty of the murder because he didn’t have the money! I get it now. Genius! It’s amazing how smart criminals are. They’ve got all that weaselyness going on in their brains.”

  The blonde in the crop pants dyed-to-match the turquoise stripes in the top glanced at her blinged-out wristwatch after taking the last bite of her sandwich.

  “Well, I’ve got to go,” she said, patting her lips and reapplying gloss. “But these sandwiches are rock stars. Good job in including them on the menu.”

  “Thanks, but the kudos go to Clementine. They were her creation and recommendation. Now scurry off like the rat you are. Imagine Bailey being free in the daytime. That’s what happens when you shirk work in lieu of milking a cash cow.”

  “Such a negative way of looking at things.”

  “What other way is there?”

  “That he’s free to sift through offers and decide his new direction. You don’t know him, Sam. He’s a trailblazer and not a follower.”

  “Oh, yeah! Right!” Sam blurted, laughing and leaning back. “Well, tell him not to worry. I’ll be busy enough for two people today. Got my first open house this evening.”

  “Then Bliss Happy Homes is still holding them at night? Wasn’t that your idea?” her friend asked as she began searching for her lip gloss.

  “Yes. I thought evening better suited house connoisseurs, so I started the black tie event promos. It’s sexier that way, and that’s what people like … sexy. Ask any Madison Avenue ad agency. And Clementine is working her fingers to the bone making sure all the canapes are up to snuff.”

  “Black tie? That does sound kinda nice.”

  “They are. There’s always live music … jazz … jazz helps the hip, edgy vibe.”

  “That should attract a crowd. I should have known better than to doubt Bliss Harper.”

  “I believe you mean me. I don’t know where I dropped off the radar, but it was predictable that she’d continue the events. Course, for me, it’ll be another late night.”

  “You mean delivering the urns?” Lyddie responded.

  “No, I mean bringing back the urns to soak.”

  “It can’t wait until morning?”

  “Nope! There’ll be another showing in the morning and they’ve got to be ready to fill.”

  “Nice! Ca-ching!”

  “Yup, all about the money!” Sam joked. “But Matt’s helping by staying late.”

  A yawn was coming on. She stretched out and opened wide.

  “Ms. Powell?”

  Her eyes popped open at the sound of the male voice.

  “Mr. Connors!” she blurted. Lyddie handled the unexpected by giving a sweet smile that hid her duplicitous nature.

  “I’m sorry for intruding,” he began. “I heard about what happened last night and wanted to see for myself that you were all right … and to apologize again about my previous remarks.”

  “It’s very nice of you,” Sam replied as her ebff gathered the items emptied out of her make-up bag. That was what it took to find the gloss, but stuffing the arsenal back in was taking her awhile. “I’m fine, Mr. Connors, and I understand why you were concerned about my meeting my obligations. No worries, sir.”

  Connors smiled, holding up an extra-large latte.

  “Well, just in case what I said wasn’t, I’m making amends by purchasing all my coffee here. Even if you weren’t my tenant, it never hurts to support small businesses. Entrepreneurship is what makes a community stable. Have a nice day,” he said, addressing both women.

  Sam and Lyddie nodded as he walked away.

  “Now that’s a nice man,” Lyddie said as she re-draped a silk chiffon scarf around her shoulders.

  Did everything she own sparkle?

  “Yeah, nice … unlike some NoBos I know. By the way, do you know what NoBo is supposed to mean? I only know it’s an insult, but not why it’s insulting.”

  “WRONG!” the voluptuous Venus bleated. “I do happen to know, but then I know everything,” she joked, sliding the clutch purse under her arm. “It means Nobody as in Nobody else could throw that pass, Nobody better to lead, Nobody but our man could get that girl’s number.”

  “Why did I ask?” Sa
m responded, squinting in shame. “And here I was trying to insult him; not throw rose petals under his feet. So many compliments for one so undeserving.” She sighed.

  “I don’t know,” her ebff replied. “They seem to fit. Especially Nobody better for Sam than NoBo!”

  “Oooh, YOU!”

  Lyddie giggled as she ran away from the pink packet of artificial sweetener Sam flung, but it didn’t take long for the angry proprietor to break into a smile.

  Now if it would just stay there.

  CHAPTER 27

  It was impossible to get any cozier.

  Harper’s open house had been a raging success. She hadn’t seen so many black-tied men since watching the movie about tap-dancing penguins. The only difference?

  These penguins carried major lines of credit.

  Mr. Cuddles was being exceptionally loving tonight. Curled up in her lap, he’d been purring ever since she walked through the door just after eleven. It could just be he was happy about the interlopers being banished from his territory, but Sam chose to see it as an expression of love for her and his furever home.

  She kissed the top of his furry triangle head—right between his adorable tufted ears.

  “Love you, Tazzie,” she murmured as she dove her head in and pressed her cheek against the soft multi-colored coat that was brushed nightly.

  No tangles on this guy.

  Scratching Mr. Toughie-Tough on his neck, she was thoroughly relaxed and ready to hit the sheets. It meant by-passing reading, but she’d survive.

  “Come on, baby,” she cooed as she lifted herself off the couch and onto her feet. His bright aqua eyes were at half-mast. “That’s right, Tazzie. We’re going to go seepy-seep.”

 

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