Five Spot

by Cindy Blackburn

  “Team?”

  “Don’t ask,” Wilson said.

  Jo sighed dramatically. “I can’t wait to hear what the amazing Lieutenant Densmore has to say about Roger Mattowski-Hollingsworth.”

  “Nothing yet. He’s still working on it.”

  “My mother might learn something also,” I said. “She’s the one who figured out Roger’s fishy.”

  Jo skipped a beat. “Your mother?”

  “Don’t ask.” Wilson tapped the Double D list on my lap and suggested I skip straight to the W’s. “Notice anything?” he asked, and my mouth dropped open.

  “Charm Willowby is a Womac?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Wilson! Why didn’t you say something before now?”

  “Because I wanted Densmore to check into it first.”

  “Womac?” Jo asked.

  I stared at Charm’s real name, Doris Womac. “She’s Dewey Womac’s—” I thought about age “—sister?”

  “Very good.”

  “Who’s Dewey?” Jo asked. “Is he significant?”

  “Probably,” we answered in unison.

  But how and why was a little complicated, and a lot unclear. We described the Hall of Fame fiasco of the previous decade, which in turn led to a discussion of Tori Fister. I asked Jo if she had met Tori, and she snarled accordingly.

  “I couldn’t get rid of her.”

  I nodded. “That’s Tori, all right.”

  “So Tori Fister, the agent.” Jo studied her Double D list. “Dated Dewey Womac, the librarian, to sway the librarian vote for Charm Willowby, aka Doris Womac, his sister, the romance writer.”

  “Then Tori dumped Dewey,” I said.

  “This sounds like a bad romance novel.”

  “Oh, but someone writing contemporaries could work wonders with it. Penelope Shay would have done a brilliant job—”

  Wilson cleared his throat.

  “But the point is.” I sat up straight. “The Dewey-Charm, brother-sister connection is news to me. It’ll be news to everyone.”

  “Think again,” Wilson said, and I sat up even straighter.

  “Tori Fister knew,” I said.

  “Which makes her my number one suspect.”

  “Tori Fister?” Jo Keegan also sat forward, and proof positive she’s a cop, she uttered my husband’s three favorite words—motive, means, and opportunity.

  But proof positive Wilson Rye can still surprise me, he suggested we start with intuition. He looked at me. “Tell us your reaction when Tori Fister came knocking at the door tonight.”

  “Terror,” I said without hesitation. But then I insisted I’d overreacted. “I mean, I’ve been avoiding Roaring Tori for weeks,” I said. “I should be used to her by now.”

  Wilson blinked twice. “Did you just say, weeks?”

  Oops.

  ***

  Lucky me. With two cops ganging up on me head on, I was forced to admit Tori had been calling me ever since the new Hall of Fame roster was publicized.

  “How many calls?” Jo asked.

  I shrugged. “Maybe fifty?”

  “What!?” That was Wilson, of course. “Jessie! Why didn’t you tell me she was harassing you?”

  “Because I knew you’d overreact.” The man was about to pop an artery, so I calmly assured him that I had not opened the door to Tori that evening. “Even when she tried to entice me with champagne.”

  “What!?”

  I turned to Jo. “Can we move on to motive, means, and opportunity now?”

  We did so, and lo and behold, the three of us actually agreed that opportunity was easy. Roaring Tori’s various and sundry stunts had given her ample opportunity to poison either the water or the candy.

  “What about motive?” Jo asked.

  “There was none,” I said. “Tori wanted me or Penelope as clients. Not dead.”

  “But was she having any success?” Wilson asked.

  I bit my lip. “No.”

  “And she kept score last time, right?” He did the Romance Writers Hall of Fame math. “Five inductees every ten years,” he said. “Last time around Tori Fister pulled her stunt with Dewey Womac to make sure three of the five were with Double D.”

  “And this time around she’s harassing the 3P authors to switch sides to Double D,” Jo said.

  I admitted Tori did seem rather desperate, even by Roaring Tori standards. “But murder goes way beyond dating Dewey.”

  “I’m not saying arrest her tonight,” Wilson said. “But she’s worth closer investigation. Especially since the Womacs might also give us means.”

  “The librarian supplied her with poison?” Jo asked.

  No, but apparently Lieutenant Densmore had researched the entire Womac clan. And clan is a good word for it. Charm and Dewey were two in a family of six children.

  “Five brothers.” Wilson counted them off on his fingers. “Librarian, computer geek, high school phys ed teacher, dentist, and pharmacist.”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “So Roaring Tori, their sister’s agent and their brother’s ex-girlfriend, just happened to acquire a fistful of poison from this supposed dentist, or maybe the pharmacist, and then packed it in her overnight bag, for the express purpose of killing a 3P author?”

  Wilson admitted he didn’t have all the details worked out. “But Desnmore’s checked. Tori Fister’s dated three of the five brothers.”

  “Wow, she must have a fetish for Womac men.” I nodded to Jo. “Now there’s a good premise for a romance novel.”

  Chapter 20

  “That police station makes your Clarence headquarters look like Pierpont Rigby’s mansion,” I told Wilson as we drove away. “Which reminds me.” I pulled out my cell phone, and sure enough Candy Poppe had left three more messages.

  “Time to gossip.” I wiggled my eyebrows and went to hit call back, but Wilson reached out to stop me.

  “Can it wait?”

  I clicked off the phone. “You’re worried,” I said.

  He stopped at an intersection and glanced over.

  “You’re worried Jo Keegan can’t handle this,” I continued. “That this case is too big, and her staff is too small, and she doesn’t have enough time to figure it out before everyone leaves.”

  “I know I’ll regret this, but I’m glad we have a sleuthing team.” He frowned for good measure and hit the gas.

  ***

  The most elderly member of the team opened her door before we even knocked. “What took you so long?” she said as she pulled us inside.

  “Tessie,” Wilson scolded. “You need to be more cautious. We could have been anyone.”

  “Silly, Wilson. I know the sound of my own daughter’s footsteps, don’t I?”

  Did she? The hallways were carpeted, and my mother is hard of hearing. But the woman has a sixth sense, especially when it comes to me. Mother had recognized my footsteps, knew I hadn’t spent the last two hours shopping for a new toothbrush, and knew we’d spoken with Jo Keegan. She also knew the main gist of the conversation—that Penelope Shay was definitely poisoned.

  At least the Tori Fister-Dewey Womac-Charm Willowby-aka Doris Womac connection was news to her. She contemplated that odd trio. “Tori Fister has a fetish, doesn’t she?” Mother pointed to the Happily Ever After schedule near her TV and informed us she planned to learn all about such things at a seminar the following day.

  Wilson got up to check. “Fascinating Fetishes from A to Z,” he read.

  “Gavin and Zelda are the teachers,” Mother said. “I suppose Tori’s fetish would be under B for brothers?”

  Wilson sat back down. “Sounds interesting, but you won’t mention this to anyone, Tessie?”

  Mother assured him she is not a gossip. “However, I’m afraid people are talking,” she said. “About Penelope and Jo Keegan, but also about you, Honeybunch. Your absence at meals has been noticed.”

  “Anyone in particular interested in Jessie?” Wilson asked.

  “Tori Fister. I don’t think she b
elieved you were headed to the drugstore for a toothbrush.”

  Wilson gave me a meaningful look, but Mother insisted Gavin and Mykal had saved the day.

  “They swept by, lickety-split, and pulled Tori away from me,” she said. “Such nice young men.”

  I explained why she’d be seeing a lot of those nice young men.

  “You mean I have bodyguards, also?”

  “Mykal in particular,” I said.

  “I’ve never needed a bodyguard before.” But Mother seemed fine with the plan and was downright thrilled the guys had joined the sleuthing team. “Pretty soon we’ll be able to start our own baseball team, won’t we?”

  While Wilson groaned in reply, I asked about Zelda Bell. “I saw you two chatting in the lobby?”

  “Mm-hmm. About our grandchildren.” Mother reminded us of the favorite topic of conversation anytime “old ladies” get together, and proceeded to report all the news on Zelda’s four, and her own three, grandchildren.

  I wasn’t surprised she knew the latest about my brother Danny’s twin daughters, but I had to chuckle when she reported what Christopher Rye had been up to. Let’s just say my elderly mother and Wilson’s college-aged son are fast friends.

  We learned some minor details about Rye Junior’s latest girlfriend before guiding Mother back on topic. “Did Zelda offer any insight on the murder?” I asked.

  Mother cringed. “She knows they were after you, Jessie.”

  Wilson shook his head. “I’m gonna kill Geez Louise.”

  “No!” Mother waved both hands. “Louise is innocent. It wasn’t her big mouth, it was Zelda’s big brain.” She tapped her forehead. “Zelda noticed Jessie and Penelope playing musical chairs this morning and put two and two together.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t invite Zelda onto the team, Tessie?”

  “Not officially. But she did promise to keep her eyes and ears open.”

  Wilson groaned again, but my mother insisted Zelda would be a valuable asset to our efforts. “People confide in us old ladies,” she said. “It’s because we’re nonthreatening. Just like Miss Marple.”

  ***

  While my husband continued making funny noises, I thought back to the induction ceremony. “I wonder if Faith Hollingsworth realizes the significance of the musical chairs?” I asked.

  Wilson snapped to attention and informed us the Hollingsworths were not, and never would be, part of the team. “I’m captain,” he said. “I get to choose.”

  “No Hollingsworths,” Mother said. “Got it.”

  “Did you talk to them tonight?” I asked.

  “No Hollingsworths,” she repeated. “They weren’t at dinner.”

  “Well, where were they?” I was indignant, but she quietly mentioned that I had also missed a few meals with the Happily Ever After crowd.

  “Let’s talk to them tomorrow,” Wilson suggested as he took another peek at the Sunday seminar offerings. He glanced up. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I was scheduled to teach with Penelope Shay tomorrow.”

  “Hysterical or Historical,” he read. “Some Hints and How-Tos.”

  “Penelope was in charge of Hysterical, while yours truly covered Historical.” I looked back and forth between them. “Anyone care to guess what the original title was?”

  “Historical or Hysterical,” they said in unison.

  “Bingo.”

  Oh, yes. Penelope had been most dissatisfied with Hatsy’s original title, and a totally absurd e-mail exchange had ensued. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Penelope complained about her perpetual short end of the stick and demanded Hysterical go first. Yadda yadda. Hatsy wanted everything just so and had refused to budge.

  I sighed dramatically. “For what it was worth, I kept arguing the title mattered not at all.”

  “It matters now,” Wilson said. “How will you manage Hysterical without the humor writer?”

  “No worries,” I told him. “The way this weekend’s going, I’m sure I’ll be able to pull off Hysterical with no trouble whatsoever.”

  “And those bodice rippers you write do tickle me,” Mother added helpfully.

  Chapter 21

  “What the hell?” Wilson said.

  “It’s my cell phone.” I forced myself to sit up and check the alarm clock. “It’s 1:15. It must be Candy.”

  “Great.” Wilson stole one of my pillows and put it over his head, and meanwhile the phone kept ringing from somewhere inside my purse. Which was somewhere inside the room.

  I tripped out of bed to find the stupid thing and stubbed my toe on the leg of the coffee table. I let out a four-letter word, stumbled backward on one foot, knocked into Wilson’s golf clubs, and sent them crashing.

  “Could you be a little noisier?” he asked from beneath the pillows, and of course I found the phone just as it stopped ringing.

  “I was right,” I said. “It was Candy.”

  “Great. Come back to bed.”

  I called Candy.

  “Jessie!” She picked up on the first ring. “Where have you been?”

  “Asleep.”

  “Asleep! How can you sleep at a time like this? Why haven’t you answered my calls? What’ve you been doing all day?”

  “There’s been a murder.” I more or less fell onto the couch. “Did Karen tell you?”

  “She said they meant to kill you.” To her credit Candy sounded duly chagrined. “Gosh, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

  “Gee thanks. Although I’m not feeling particularly lively.” I yawned. “What’s up, Sweetie?”

  “You’ll never guess in a million years.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes, and told her I already knew about the first date.

  “We’re talking about the second date, and don’t you dare go back to sleep.”

  Something in my young friend’s tone made me sit up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Karen’s wrong! She couldn’t be more wrong. You’ve got to talk some sense into her, Jessie.”

  “Sense about what?”

  “About Pierpont Rigby! About her second date. Call her!”

  She hung up, and I noticed Mr. Cupid staring at me from the shadows. “Candy hung up on me.”

  “Great,” Wilson said. “Come back to bed.”

  I called Karen.

  “Jess?” she asked in a husky voice. “Are you dead?”

  “No.”

  “Is Wilson dead?”

  “No.”

  “Is someone else dead?”

  “Not since this morning.”

  “Great. Go back to bed,” she said and hung up.

  “Karen hung up on me, too,” I said.

  “Great. Come back to bed.”

  ***

  Bang! Bang, bang, bang!

  “What the hell?” Wilson sprang from the bed, and by the time I opened my eyes, he had his gun out.

  “What the hell?” I switched on the light. “Put that away.”

  Bang! Bang, bang, bang!

  “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  “It’s Louise!” Louise Urko said and banged a few thousand more times.

  Wilson looked at me. “Can I shoot her?”

  “Not before I do.”

  I climbed out of bed, but he asked me to give him a second, and I waited while he donned a pair of jeans. Meanwhile my agent continued along her merry, insane way making a fantastical racket outside our door.

  “Louise,” I hissed from my side. “Geez!”

  Wilson picked up his gun and gestured for me to back up.

  I put my hands on my hips and made a halfhearted attempt to look authoritative clad in my pajamas. “You are not opening the door with that gun in your hand.”

  “Got news for you, Darlin’.”

  I tried glaring, but quite frankly I wasn’t up to it. It was, after all, 2:49 a.m.

  I stepped aside, Wilson opened the door, and Louise lunged in.

  “What’s that for?” She pointed at the gun. “Put it away or I’l
l be tempted to shoot you.” She stormed past me. “And you,” she said and plopped onto the couch.

  ***

  I am happy to report Mr. Cordiality did put his gun away. He took a seat opposite our latest guest, and Louise grabbed my pajama leg and pulled me down beside her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Does this have something to do with Roberto?”

  “Roberto?”

  “You know, your business meeting about Penelope this afternoon?”

  She waved a highly agitated hand. “Roberto knows nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing! This whole day has been one completely and totally un-fantastical mess after another.”

  “Tell me about it.” Wilson yawned. “Which mess did you wake us up for?”

  “The Tori Fister arrest mess, of course!”

  Okay, so somehow that got our attention.

  “Your cop friend arrested Tori tonight!” Louise scowled at the clock on my nightstand. “Last night.” She threw her hands up. “Whichever night!”

  Chapter 22

  “Arrested? For murder?” Wilson shook himself. “What was Jo thinking?”

  “What was Tori thinking?” I asked.

  Louise folded her arms and glared. “I have a better question. What were you two thinking?”

  “We weren’t thinking,” Wilson said. “We were asleep.”

  “Well you didn’t go to bed nearly soon enough!” she snapped. “You should have heard poor Tori!”

  “Poor Tor—”

  “Her roar has been completely and totally knocked out of her. The poor woman sounded frantic when she called me! From her jail cel—”

  I tapped her arm, and Louise swung around. “What?”

  “Are you actually telling me Tori Fister’s under arrest, and she used her one and only phone call to call you? Her archenemy?”

  “Archenemy? Don’t be ridiculous, Jessica! Tori and I are friends. Fantastically fast friends!”

  I shook my groggy, sleep-deprived head while Wilson helped me out. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Your cutthroat rivalry is just an act?”

  “Absolutely! Completely! Totally!” Louise nodded vigorously. “It’s all in fun. A teeny tiny-itsy bitsy touch of competition to keep everyone on their toes.”