String of Lies

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “I like to graze. By the way, Rafe, what play are you working on lately?”

  Rafe took a moment to swallow, then said, “Barefoot in the Park. Sorry I couldn’t ask you to do any jewelry for it. The playhouse put this on once, before I came, and everything we needed was in stock.” Rafe was referring to the fact that Jo had put together the costume jewelry for the playhouse’s last production – a tongue-in-cheek fairy tale that eventually ran into major problems.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I don’t envision your present characters needing much jewelry. And I’ve got my hands pretty full for the moment.”

  “Mr. Rulenski! How nice to see you here.” A dowager-type in black lace swept up to Rafe, towing a boy of about seventeen with a severe case of acne along with her.

  Rafe set his plate onto the table behind him, and smiled charmingly. “Mrs. Sinclair. Always a pleasure.” He introduced Jo, and Mrs. Sinclair in turn introduced the young man who turned out to be her grandson, and who was “so talented! He’s written a play which is simply wonderful. It’s all about,” she paused, “What is it about again, Zachary? You can explain it much better than I.”

  Zachary launched into a description, as best Jo could understand it, of a group of teens, washed up on a desert island, who battle prehistoric monsters, were visited by outer-space aliens, and develop a new civilization infinitely better than what they had left behind. Jo watched Rafe’s charming smile freeze in place as he nodded. “Well,” he said, “that’s quite imaginative!”

  Mrs. Sinclair burbled happily. “I thought you might like to consider putting it on this summer. Wouldn’t it be a wonderful way to draw more of our young people?”

  Jo listened with amusement as Rafe wriggled his way out, suggesting Zachary’s play would be much better served on the screen, and how he should really think in terms of a Hollywood submission. “You don’t want to waste a story like that on our kind of small budget production. Speaking of which, have you considered, Mrs. Sinclair, becoming involved in our upcoming playhouse fund raising event …?”

  Jo tuned out about that time, and let her gaze wander the crowd once more. It stopped abruptly at a certain man, turned partially away – dark-haired, tall - and she puzzled for a moment until recognition flashed. Lieutenant Morgan! Out of uniform and looking very nice in a dark suit. Was he with someone? Jo searched through the crush of people surrounding him but she didn’t see any woman who resembled his lunch date of last fall. Morgan suddenly turned in her direction and caught her watching him. He looked as surprised as she felt, perhaps more so, but he nodded courteously. Then his gaze moved toward Rafe, standing beside her. Morgan stood too far away for Jo to say for sure, but she thought she saw him frown. Finding herself growing a tad flustered Jo refocused on the people she was with.

  Mrs. Sinclair was saying something to her. “So nice to meet you Miss Malachey.” Jo smiled and considered butchering Mrs. Sinclair’s name in turn, but minded her manners and wished her and her grandson a pleasant evening.

  “Now you see why I hate these things,” Rafe muttered once the pair had moved off. He retrieved his plate.

  “You handled it like a pro,” Jo said. “Which, of course you are. Do you see Mallory Holt anywhere yet?”

  “Mallory?” Rafe took another bite out of his roast beef sandwich and checked around the room. “There she is, in the purple.”

  Jo looked in the direction Rafe indicated with a wave of his sandwich, and saw a woman of perhaps forty, slim, brown-haired and attractive in a gracefully draping purple satin and velvet gown. She looked appropriately subdued, considering her recent widowhood, as well as thoroughly involved in the evening’s event, moving from person to person like a hostess, which in a way, as president of the Women’s Club and the ball’s chief organizer, she was.

  “You want to meet her?” Rafe asked. “C’mon.” And before Jo could respond he took her arm and led her over.

  “Mallory, sweet, you look amazing tonight.”

  Mallory Holt turned from a distinguished-looking couple she had been speaking to with a graceful apology. “Rafe! You made it after all. After leaving me in suspense all these weeks.”

  “You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mallory. Too much gold to be mined – for the arts, of course. May I introduce Jo McAllister?”

  Mallory ran a rapid and speculative eye over Jo and her outfit, looking completely capable of identifying its designer and cost in milliseconds. Since the only thing Jo had paid for herself was her underwear and shoes, and assuming the woman didn’t have X-ray vision, Jo withstood the scrutiny with confidence.

  “How do you do?” Mallory held out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we? Are you from Abbotsville?”

  Rafe jumped in before Jo could answer. “Jo runs a little arts and crafts shop on Main Street. Isn’t that where it is, Jo?” Jo had to agree, though she wasn’t totally pleased with the dismissive “little” used to describe her shop. “She’s also,” Rafe went on, “done some costume jewelry design for the playhouse, which is how we happen to know each other.”

  “Oh, really?” Mallory’s smile dimmed a few watts.

  “Yes. I’m fairly new to Abbotsville, but I love it here. And I’m very impressed with this Founders Ball. I understand you’re responsible for it?”

  Mallory laughed lightly. “I and about a hundred other very hard-working people. Have you seen the decorations in the Jefferson Room yet? That’s the room where our orchestra is set up. You, especially, would appreciate it, I’m sure. Our flower committee really outdid themselves this year.”

  “I’ll have to take a look,” Jo said. “I don’t suppose that my former neighbor, Frannie, of Fantastic Florals had a hand in it, did she? I mean, since she had to close her shop after your late husband bought the building.”

  Mallory stared a moment, then shook her head. “No, I believe the committee worked with a flower wholesaler. That was unfortunate about Frannie’s closing, wasn’t it? But I’ve heard she’s quite happy to be out of the retailing rat race, now, and delighted to have more time to spend with her family.” Mallory smiled brightly at this.

  “I’ve been trying,” Jo said, smiling less brightly than Mallory, “to find out what’s happening with my own building. I don’t have a family to spend more time with and need to keep my shop running. Did the Holt Corporation buy it from my landlord, Max McGee?”

  “Well…” Mallory seemed to be carefully forming an answer, but then a plump woman in pink satin hurried up and plucked at her sleeve.

  “Mallory, there’s a major problem with the bar manager. Can you come talk to him?”

  “Yes, of course.” Mallory excused herself with a gentle sigh over the never-ending demands on a Founders Ball organizer. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. Or perhaps you could call the office on Monday.”

  Right, Jo thought. I’ll want to do that and set myself up for the same run-around I got before. As Mallory turned away, Jo puffed her cheeks in frustration, feeling she had come so close to finally getting an answer. Or maybe not. Possibly Mallory was simply on the verge of giving a non-answer, a nothing’s-been-settled-yet kind of answer. Or she might not have known at all. Jo watched her hurry off, thinking how very poised and in control Mallory seemed. She couldn’t imagine a woman like that being happily married to Parker Holt. At least, not for long.

  “I’ve got to talk to that man with the horrendous overbite over there,” Rafe said, breaking into her thoughts. “He promised to look into getting us a discount on our program printing costs. Want to come along?”

  Jo looked where Rafe indicated and, spotting Sebastian Zarnik standing near by, shook her head. “I think I’ll go check out the decorations in the Jefferson room, if you don’t mind. I can meet you back here later.”

  “Right. See you then.” Rafe took off, and Jo turned in the direction of the music.

  As she rounded a corner she saw two white haired ladies, one tall, t
he other petite with their backs to her. The tall one was dressed in powder blue, and the short one was all in peach, both covered from chin to toe. Jo recognized them immediately.

  “Ina Mae and Loralee, how nice to see you!”

  The women turned, Loralee lighting up with particular pleasure. “Why, Jo! I had no idea you were coming tonight!”

  “It was pretty much a last minute thing.”

  “Wonderful to see you, Jo,” Ina Mae said. “Javonne told me you were coming but I hadn’t mentioned it yet to Loralee. Javonne also told me about your visit with the former Pheasant Run manager.”

  “Oh! The woman who left after a blow-up with Parker Holt?” Loralee asked. “Tell me about it.”

  Jo did, as well as clarifying a few details for Ina Mae.

  “You know the woman’s here tonight,” Ina Mae said. “I ran into Celia when Loralee was powdering her nose, and she mentioned it.”

  “She’s here?” Loralee glanced around, as did Jo.

  “Yes, with her husband. But Celia wasn’t able to point her out.”

  “I see her,” Jo said. “She’s the blond over there near the window, dressed in burgundy. The man next to her must be her husband.” A good-looking man of about thirty stood closely to Heather Bannister as both sipped from champagne flutes.

  “Why, that’s Kevin Bannister,” Loralee said.

  “You know him?” Ina Mae and Jo asked in unison.

  “Yes, I met him years ago when he was helping his father with his tree-removal service. He was in college at the time, but it was summer break. What was he majoring in? Oh, yes, he was studying to be an engineer. An electrical engineer.”

  Ina Mae and Jo exchanged looks.

  “Hors d’oeuvres, ladies?” The pony-tailed waitress held a tray out to them, this one filled with luscious-looking bacon-wrapped shrimp. Jo took one, as did both Ina Mae and Loralee, thanking her politely.

  “By the way,” Loralee said before trying hers, “Xavier is here, in the kitchen. They apparently were short of help, and the poor man probably needs any work he can get right now.”

  “Did you speak with him?” Jo asked.

  “No, he looked too busy. I caught his eye when the kitchen door swung open and I waved. I think he’s doing clean-up.”

  “Maybe I can talk to him later on,” Jo said.

  “Talk to who later on?” A male voice said at her shoulder, startling Jo.

  “Why, Lieutenant Morgan, I hardly recognized you,” Loralee said. “Are you having a nice time?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am, thank you,” Morgan said. “And tonight I’m simply Russ Morgan, not lieutenant, since I’m off duty and therefore not doing any detecting.” He threw Jo a significant look, and she suddenly found absorbing interest in her wine glass.

  “Russ, such a nice name,” Loralee burbled. “I have a nephew named Russ. He was a darling child. Unfortunately, when he grew up, well, never mind. Doesn’t our Jo look nice tonight, Lieu- I mean, Russ?”

  “Yes she does.” Morgan gave Jo a look of a different type this time, and she felt her cheeks warm. “And I’m sure her escort feels the same way. Rafe Rulenski seemed to be looking about for you when I left the buffet area.”

  “He was more likely looking for another roast beef sandwich,” Jo said.

  “Is that who you came with, Jo,” Loralee asked. “How nice! I always liked Rafe, didn’t you, Ina Mae?”

  “Perhaps this is our chance,” Ina Mae said, “to ask Mr. Rulenski if he truly plans to put on that highly inappropriate play I heard about next season. Come along, Loralee.” Ina Mae nodded to Morgan and left Jo standing with the off-duty lieutenant.

  Morgan waited until the two rounded the corner, then turned to Jo to repeat his original question.

  “Talk to who later on?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Jo popped the shrimp hors d’oeuvre she had been holding into her mouth, giving herself time to answer the lieutenant’s question. The orchestra in the Jefferson room began playing a slow tune and several couples moved onto the dance floor.

  “If Ina Mae were still here,” she said, licking a finger, “she might protest that you should correctly ask ‘to whom.’ ”

  “All right, Miss Jo. To whom were you planning to speak later?”

  “Xavier Ramirez. He’s working in the kitchen tonight. Apparently he’s taking any job available, since Dan’s business has been suffering cancellations.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Russ Morgan did look sorry, and Jo, who had been prepared to re-launch their argument of three days ago, relented.

  “But,” Morgan said, “I also noticed you talking with Mallory Holt a minute ago. I’m sure, though, that being the highly considerate person that you are, nothing whatsoever concerning what we discussed in my office, came up. Am I right?”

  “Nothing at all,” Jo acknowledged. “I merely inquired about the status of my shop’s building, wanting to know if Parker Holt had bought it or not. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the answer.”

  Morgan nodded.

  “Is Mayor Kunkle here tonight?” Jo asked.

  “I haven’t seen him. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing, except as mayor I would assume he’d attend. Plus, as Mallory’s uncle he would naturally provide support for the ball she’d organized, wouldn’t he? He certainly was very supportive of his niece the night of Holt’s murder. I presume he was just as supportive when he came to see you immediately after I did, possibly to discuss the status of your murder investigation.”

  Jo’s last statement ended on a questioning note and she looked up at Morgan and waited. He returned the look, then grinned.

  “Nice try. Tonight, though,” his glance swept over her, “you don’t quite fit my image of an investigative reporter.” Morgan paused, then turned toward the buffet room. “If your escort is really more interested in the food than in being seen with a beautiful woman on the dance floor, he’s a bigger fool than I thought. Would you care to dance, Miss Jo?”

  Jo blinked. Dance? That was not something she’d actually planned on when she’d pictured the evening. Particularly with Russ Morgan. But it was a ball, after all. He was waiting for her response. Would she dance? Maybe the better question was could she dance? Would this super-snug cocoon of a dress allow her to dance?

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Jo heard herself saying, and before she knew it she had set her wine glass down and was being led onto the dance floor. Morgan’s arm circled her waist and hers reached for his shoulder. He didn’t pull her too close, which she appreciated since she found herself feeling, for some reason, just a bit breathless. Which was ridiculous. They began to move in unison in time to the music, and Jo found herself smiling, liking the feeling, liking the scent of him. Had he actually called her beautiful, she wondered? Or had he simply thrown the word out there, aiming at no one in particular?

  Other couples whirled about them, one middle-aged twosome looking quite proficient. Russ’s dance steps, however, were basic, though firmly on the beat and nicely clear of her toes, which were no small virtues. Jo spotted Donna, the woman from the Pheasant Run beading class wearing her gray dress topped with her nicely-done blue and silver beaded necklace, and caught sight of Loralee at the edge of the room, beaming in her direction.

  “The flower decorations really are beautiful,” Jo said.

  “Mmm,” Morgan responded, taking a moment as though he had just realized there were flower decorations.

  “You said you were off duty tonight. Does that mean the evening is purely social, or are you here semi-officially as a representative of the Abbotsville police force?” She wanted to add, ‘and are you here alone or with a date, possibly that very attractive woman whose cheek I saw you kiss?’ but didn’t.

  “It’s never purely one thing or another,” Morgan said. “If people know who I am, I’m therefore representing the police to some extent.”

  “That makes it rather hard to relax, I imagine.”

  “Oh, I find ways,
” Morgan said with a smile.

  It was a very nice smile, Jo thought. She seemed to be seeing more of it lately, and liked that. The music, though, which they had come in on late, ended and she didn’t like that. Couples scattered, and Morgan led her off the dance floor. He seemed about to say something when, to Jo’s consternation, Alexis Wigsley suddenly popped up.

  “I thought that was you on the dance floor,” she cried to Jo. “I told myself no, that can’t be Jo McAllister, but it was! And Lieutenant Morgan! So you came together?”

  “Ms. McAllister simply honored me with a dance,” Russ said.

  “Oooh,” Alexis said simperingly, causing Jo to cringe. “I wanted to tell you,” she said, moving closely to Jo. “Remember that girlfriend of Randy’s I mentioned the other day? She’s here!”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Russ said – unfortunately, to Jo’s mind, taking this as his cue to leave. Did he believe she was bosom buddies with Alexis Wigsley? “If I see Rafe, I’ll tell him where you are,” he said, and Jo helplessly watched him walk away.

  Alexis took hold of her arm and leaned even closer. “Lisa Williams. She’s that waitress over there.” Alexis pointed to the pony-tailed food server circulating through the crowd.

  “That’s Lisa?” Jo asked. She glanced back to see that Russ had disappeared. “She came up to me once or twice in the buffet room. She seems nice,” Jo said, wishing she could shake Alexis off her arm.

  “She is!” Alexis agreed. “A perfectly decent woman, and there she is going out with someone like Randy Truitt! I took the opportunity to take her aside and have a little talk with her, explaining that for her own good she needs to drop him like a hot potato.”

  “You said that to her? Jo asked, horrified. “Now? When she’s working?”

  “Certainly! And the sooner she takes the advice, the better. The man will only drag her down. Lisa may not be the brightest, or beauty pageant material, but there’s no need to waste her time like that. Someone has to steer her away from trouble if she’s not seeing it herself.”