by J. R. Ripley
Laura looked ready to bolt.
‘Laura’s a real trooper.’ I shot her a look that I hoped would keep her nailed to her seat.
Laura fought back. ‘You’ll never guess what happened, Maggie.’ She smiled but I detected a touch of evil behind those glistening eyes.
‘What’s that?’ I said, nonchalantly unrolling my napkin.
‘Someone broke into Lisa’s apartment last night.’
My elbow bumped the table sending coffee over the edge of my cup. I quickly dabbed at it with my napkin.
‘Isn’t that right, Houston?’
‘Yeah.’ Houston dropped his fork on his plate and folded his arms. ‘It’s the darnedest thing.’
‘Oh?’ I fiddled with my French toast, afraid to look him in the eye.
‘Yeah. It doesn’t appear that anything was taken.’
‘Then how do you know anyone had been inside?’ I swung my foot under the table, aiming for Laura’s leg but caught the table leg instead. My big toe pulsed with pain and I cursed myself for choosing open-toed sandals that morning.
Houston leaned his elbows on the table. ‘My laptop, for one thing.’
‘I thought you said they didn’t take anything?’ Thank goodness I’d let Johnny talk me out of it. Apparently, it hadn’t even been Lisa’s laptop.
‘I’d left it open when I went out to dinner. I was watching some baseball videos. When I went to bed later, I noticed the lid was closed and when I powered it back up it was on the desktop screen.’
‘Let’s think about this,’ I said. ‘Maybe there was some sort of a vibration, like an earthquake or something. The lid banged down and the computer rebooted itself.’ I coughed. ‘Or something …’
Houston seemed skeptical.
‘Houston wanted to call the police.’ Laura batted her eyes at me. ‘I told him it probably wasn’t worth the bother.’
I froze. Police? That would mean an investigation. That would mean fingerprints. ‘I agree with Laura. Sounds like a whole lot of trouble for nothing, especially since nothing was taken.’
Houston nodded and attacked his eggs. ‘I suppose I can afford to be generous.’
What did that mean?
Laura answered my unspoken question. ‘Houston was telling me that Willow Willoughby, his aunt, passed last weekend and has left him with a significant inheritance.’
Houston nodded. ‘It’s gonna be easy street from here on out.’
‘She left everything to you?’ I said between bites of dripping French toast.
‘Well, me and Lisa. But with Lisa gone …’
Houston Willoughby inherits everything. And he wasn’t making a secret of it.
I’d seen the hotel receipt in his suitcase. I knew he’d been staying for two nights in Prescott. Two days before Lisa was killed. Prescott is not far from Table Rock. That meant Houston had plenty of time to stalk Lisa, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself and then …
How was I going to question him about it? I couldn’t very well admit to snooping in his suitcase. While I gave the matter some thought, I continued the conversation. ‘So what line of business are you in?’
He smiled. ‘The restaurant business. I’ve got a two-hundred-and-fifty-seat place, plus bar.’
‘Down in Santa Fe?’
‘Yep. Right smack in the heart of downtown,’ he boasted.
‘That must be a lot of work. And quite an investment.’ I’d had a hard time funding and was having a hard time managing my one tiny beignet café.
He nodded vigorously. ‘I admit it was touch and go for a while. Only been open a year and a half.’ He bit the unbuttered end of a triangle of wheat toast. ‘But things are looking up.’ Suddenly his face clouded over and he choked.
At first I thought it was the dry toast but then I saw what he was looking at with nervous dark eyes. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms like a pair of pythons had come through the dining room and stood half-a-dozen yards away. He filled out a pair of black jeans and his black T-shirt was having a hard time keeping all those muscles locked in.
He nodded our way and I saw Houston smile, but he didn’t look happy.
‘Irwin!’ Houston didn’t bother standing. ‘What are you doing in Table Rock?’
Irwin? He looked more like a Butch. Or a Knuckles. The big guy loomed over the table like a total eclipse of the sun.
He rubbed one hand into the other. ‘Keeping an eye on my investment.’
‘Houston,’ I said, ‘aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?’
Houston sputtered an apology. ‘This is Maggie Miller and Laura Duval. Ladies,’ Houston waved toward the giant, ‘meet Irwin Acheson.’ Acheson’s bristly black hair put the buzz in buzzcut. His large ears stuck out like they’d been haphazardly pinned on and his nose was broad and flat.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Acheson,’ Laura said with a nod. Laura is ever so polite. Even in the face of deadly pythons.
‘Ladies.’ He cast a hard look at me, then Laura. His irises were silvery-gray, making him look more machine than man. He aimed his index finger at Houston. ‘You and me gotta talk.’
Houston nodded quickly. ‘Sure, Irwin.’ He studied the expensive-looking watch wrapped round his wrist. ‘Let’s meet up at my sister’s place around noon.’ Houston extended his arm. ‘It’s over on—’
The big guy signaled for him not to bother. ‘I know where it is.’ He turned on his heel and strutted away and out the door. Once out on the sidewalk, I saw him look through the glass at our table for a minute or two, his fists clenched. Then he disappeared from sight. I was glad to see him go.
‘That man is a friend of yours?’ I asked. I was still waiting for my heart rate to come back down into the normal range.
‘A business associate,’ Houston replied glibly. ‘I admit he’s a little rough around the edges.’
‘Rough around the edges?’ Laura repeated. ‘I’d say spooky.’
Houston pushed back his plate. ‘Irwin wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Was that a fact or was Houston hoping that was true?
Houston rose and fished his wallet from his back pocket. ‘I’m sorry, but if you girls will excuse me.’ He threw a few bills on the table. ‘I have an appointment with the solicitor handling Lisa’s estate.’
‘What possessed you to go out with Houston in the first place?’ I asked Laura when the two of us were alone at the table.
Laura shrugged. ‘I met him outside the condo building. I’d heard about Lisa, of course. I gave him my condolences and the next thing I knew he was asking me out.’ She drank some ice water. ‘I felt sorry for the guy.’
I looked around the crowded diner then leaned closer. ‘Don’t feel too sorry for him,’ I said in my best conspiratorial tone. ‘I think he might have killed his sister.’
Laura arched her back and pushed her hands against the table until it rocked. ‘You think he murdered Lisa?’
I nodded solemnly.
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Yet you asked me to invite the man up to my condo last night?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And then you asked me to call him up the very next morning like some crushing schoolgirl and invite him to breakfast?’ Laura’s voice really crescendoed there.
‘Well, yes, but—’ I started again and got no further than I had the first time.
Laura pushed back from her chair. She grabbed her purse, anchored it by its leather strap over her right shoulder and glared at me appraisingly. ‘You owe me,’ she began.
‘I know.’ I nodded eagerly – anything to appease her.
She tilted her head. ‘Free beignets.’
‘Done.’ I snapped my fingers.
‘And free coffee.’ She stared me down.
‘And done,’ I agreed readily.
She pressed her fists against her hips. ‘For life.’
Ouch. That was going to hurt.
TWENTY-TWO
I tracked down the Robinsons next. My m
other had informed me they ran a bird shop near the corner of Smile and Main. Mom keeps a birdfeeder outside her kitchen window and is always telling me about her latest visitors, creatures like Canyon Wrens, Yellow-Rumped Warblers and the Steller’s jay.
To me, one bird looks pretty much like any other – a couple of wings and a beak. Set a plate of fried chicken in front of me and I could tell you if it was Kentucky Fried or Church’s. But ask me to point out the difference between a Summer Tanager and a Western Tanager and I’d draw a blank. Stepping onto the Robinsons’ Nest welcome mat set off a chirping that could have been a condor or a pterodactyl for all I knew.
Mrs Robinson was plumpish and pleasant and wore khaki-colored crops and a black polo shirt. Her husband, who looked pretty much like a bird himself with a hawkish nose, close-set eyes and a tuft of black hair sticking out in front, was similarly attired.
They turned out to be useless as far as my investigation went.
‘We had a consultation with Reva,’ Mrs Robinson explained while her husband chatted with a customer who’d stepped in from the street. ‘She introduced us to Ms Willoughby who said she’d draw up some design ideas and email them to us.’ She reached into a drawer and pulled out a printed sheet of paper. ‘It was going to be covered with birds. See?’
‘That’s very nice,’ I said. A bunch of birds for a vow-renewal cake? I shrugged. Why not? ‘Perfect.’ I’d have never guessed that the mess I’d seen splattered across the bottom of the stairs had been something so elegant looking.
I was surprised to see them in the shop what with the vow renewal and all. ‘No honeymoon?’
Mrs Robinson smiled serenely. ‘Every day is like a honeymoon with my John.’
‘That’s so nice,’ I replied, feeling a tinge of jealousy. I thanked them both for their time, useless though it was, and started to leave.
‘Oh, before you go.’ Mrs Robinson pulled a brown paper bag from behind the counter. ‘These just came in today. I told your mother I’d let her know when we got some more in.’
I took the bag and peered inside. ‘What is it?’ An unexpected odor of rotted corpses assaulted my nostrils.
‘It’s suet, dear.’
‘Soot?’ Was Mom planning on feeding the birds or poisoning them?
‘Suet, for the birds. It’s made from rendered fat, peanut butter, bird seeds …’
‘There’s bits of fruit in there, too,’ chimed in Mr Robinson. ‘And meal worms.’ He went behind the counter and placed his arm around his wife’s waist. A couple of real lovebirds.
Meal worms? Rendered fat? Whatever that was, it sounded disgusting. In fact, it sounded like something Donna would cook up to feed the family, minus the rendered fat, her being vegan and all. I wondered if they made a vegan version of suet. No, I didn’t want to know. If Donna heard about it, she’d be serving it up to us at our next family gathering. Suet burgers. I could see it now. Worse, I could taste it. My tongue has a vivid imagination.
I thanked them once again and hurried back to Maggie’s Beignet Café.
‘Thank goodness,’ Aubrey said, wiping her brow with the side of her arm. ‘It’s been truly, truly busy.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. I dropped the sack on the counter.
‘What’s that?’ Aubrey fingered the bag.
‘Some junk for my mom. Put it behind the counter, would you? I’ll be right back.’
‘Wait!’ cried Aubrey. ‘Where are you going? I could use some help here!’ The poor girl looked a bit frazzled.
‘I’ll be right back. I promise,’ I repeated. ‘I’m going next door for a minute.’ I found Clive and Johnny huddled around the big desk toward the rear of the showroom. There wasn’t a customer in sight.
Clive was talking. ‘I asked Mrs Higgins to be sure the band is finished by one to give us plenty of time to set up for the sho—’ Both wore charcoal-gray pinstriped suits with white dress shirts. Johnny’s tie was cranberry red; Clive’s was ocean blue. I was surprised to see Clive in a necktie. He usually went in for the bowtie look. I thought he looked great, better really than with the bowtie. The bowtie always made him look a little geekish.
I felt like a bum in comparison to the guys. My shirt was covered in powdered sugar and grease stains and my khakis had more wrinkles than an elephant’s behind. Johnny was nodding his head while looking over Clive’s shoulder. Clive was seated behind the grand oak desk, hands holding down a chart of some kind.
‘Hey, boys!’ I hollered as I wound past miles of pricy wedding gowns. ‘How are my two favorite criminals today?’ I’d decided to make light of a rather dire situation. No point dwelling on the negative, I always say.
‘Keep your voice down, Miller!’ hissed Johnny, waving an angry hand in my direction.
‘What?’ I flopped into one of the two wingchairs facing the desk. ‘There’s nobody here to hear.’
Johnny frowned. ‘What do you want?’
I scooted my chair forward. ‘Hey, is that the layout for the Labor of Love?’ I ignored Johnny’s question.
Clive nodded. ‘Yes. Johnny and I were just going over the weekend’s activities.’
I leaned even closer and pressed my finger to the paper. ‘Is that your booth?’
Clive nodded.
‘That big one in the corner?’ It sat far from the Salon de Belezza and Karma Koffee.
‘That’s right,’ snapped Johnny. ‘Is there a point to your question?’
I gulped. ‘Wanna trade?’
‘Excuse me?’ Johnny’s brow shot up.
‘I’ve got this great booth right here.’ I pointed to the spot Cosmic had picked out for me. ‘It would be perfect for The Hitching Post.’
‘Forget it, Miller,’ Johnny said, his arms folding across his chest like a drawbridge coming down. ‘We’ve got a big corner booth.’
Clive nodded. ‘We paid extra for it, too. Double what a normal booth costs.’
Double? Eight hundred dollars? My eyes doubled. ‘Forget it,’ I said, backpedaling quickly. I needed another option. Maybe I could get Aubrey and Kelly to take my place at the booth. ‘What kind of show are you talking about?’
‘A fashion show,’ answered Johnny. ‘Wedding fashions, of course.’
I cocked my head to one side. ‘Sounds nice.’
‘Speaking of which.’ Clive elbowed Johnny.
Johnny swatted him away.
Clive looked beseechingly at his partner. ‘Johnny,’ he said, drawing out the former skater’s name for all it was worth.
‘Oh, fine,’ sighed Johnny. He paced back and forth for a moment on the rug. ‘We need a favor, Miller.’ Johnny looked at Clive once more.
‘A favor? From me?’ I held back the grin that was about to erupt. There’d be nothing like having Johnny Wolfe owe me. He probably wanted me to model for them. What girl hasn’t once dreamed she’d one day be a runway model? I guess it’s true – you’re never too old.
‘We’d like to ask you to take this dress swatch over to Mr Gravelle.’
‘Markie Gravelle?’
Both men nodded. Clive slid open the top middle drawer of the desk and removed a swatch of fabric identical to the one we’d taken to the Entronque building the other day.
‘You want me to take that,’ I said, pointing with my chin, ‘back to Markie’s Masterpieces for you? Why?’ I pushed the swatch around on the desktop with my finger. ‘Why doesn’t one of you do it?’
Johnny pouted. ‘Clive and I do not believe it would be in either of our best interests to be seen anywhere near the … you know’ – he paused – ‘scene of the crime.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Clive.
I agreed, too. In fact, this was perfect. I could use taking the swatch over to Navajo Junction as my excuse to snoop around a bit more and ask some questions. ‘I don’t know,’ I whined. ‘I’m not so sure I want to be seen there myself.’ I was going to play these boys like a pair of fiddles.
‘Please,’ said Clive. ‘We’ve told them we’d deliver the material to them. They rea
lly must get started on the cake if it is to be ready for Sunday.’
‘Come on, Miller,’ said Johnny. ‘This business relationship with Markie is important to us. We do a lot of business together.’
‘I don’t know …’ I let my voice trail off. I played with the swatch then laid it down on Clive’s desk.
‘What’s it going to take?’ demanded Johnny. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘Oh, don’t give it a second thought,’ I said finally. ‘I’d be happy to do you a favor.’ And they could pay me back in spades one day when they least expected it.
‘Thank you,’ Clive said, rising from his chair.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Johnny said grudgingly.
I folded the six-inch swatch and dropped it in my handbag. I raised my hands and jiggled my fingers at Johnny.
‘Now what?’ Johnny asked.
‘The keys, of course.’
‘Keys?’ Johnny slatted his eyes at me.
‘To the BMW.’
‘The BMW? My BMW?’
Clive rose and laid a restraining hand on Johnny’s forearm.
‘Yes,’ I replied glibly. ‘You don’t expect me to pedal my Schwinn all the way out to Navajo Junction, do you? It’s miles from here.’
Johnny glared at Clive. His forehead had a swath of red across it. I thought he was going to burst.
‘Now, Johnny.’ Clive shrugged. ‘What choice do we have?’
Johnny sighed and fished his keys from his pocket. ‘Bring it back in one piece, Miller.’
‘Of course, Johnny,’ I said with a smile. ‘Not to worry. I’m an excellent driver.’
‘Yeah,’ he quipped. ‘You did an excellent job smashing your mother’s Volkswagen into one of my landscape boulders.’
‘A complete fluke,’ I said. Johnny had me by the elbow and was leading me to the door. Before he had me all the way out, I asked, ‘Have you spoken to Detective Highsmith yet? Is he still looking for you?’
Johnny pushed me outside. ‘Your brother-in-law, Andy, called him. Clive and I are going down later to make our statements.’ He pointed to his black BMW. ‘Now, the Entronque, Miller.’ He looked meaningfully at his watch. ‘I expect you back here with my car within the hour.’