“I don’t know. Tell them you’re bird watching.”
“Bird watching!?” he shouted as I scurried away in search of my binoculars.
I walked back to the kitchen and handed them over. “Do you have a camera?” I asked, and he held up his cell phone.
Chapter 11
Ian finally left, but I still had the disapproving glare from the cat to contend with.
“What?” I asked defiantly and set about making a sandwich for myself. I, too, needed to keep up my energy. Because, deadline or not, I certainly wasn’t planning on writing all afternoon.
First stop on my extended walk? The University of Clarence Library. I climbed the slate stairs leading into the massive building, seriously doubting I would find Kevin Cooper anywhere therein. Librarian, my foot, I said to myself.
The expansive space I entered was filled with people wearing spectacles and sandals, and looking a lot like Kevin. But just as I suspected, the man himself was not at the reservation desk, or the circulation, or reference desks. I walked upstairs to make extra-double sure, as Candy would say, and that’s where I spotted him.
I stopped short. Maybe he really was a librarian? But Kevin was not stationed at a counter doing anything librarianish. Instead he was sitting at one of the large tables provided for the students. I slipped behind the nearest bookcase and commenced spying.
He seemed to be transcribing something onto his laptop. I couldn’t see it, but he must have had a tape recorder on his lap, which in turn was attached to the ear buds in his ears. He typed at a furious pace, but every so often he switched off the machine on his lap and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.
What the heck was he doing?
I grabbed a book from the nearest shelf, took the long route around the back of the stacks, and sat down at the table directly behind him. I kept my head down and my nose inside my miscellaneous book, but I was listening intently, hoping to hear what was coming from that machine attached to his ears.
Nothing but indecipherable chatter.
Well, that was altogether unacceptable. Eventually I got up the nerve to turn around. Ever so cautiously I glanced over his shoulder at his computer screen.
Aha! I caught a glimpse of Avis Sage’s name just as Kevin turned to face me. The tips of our noses practically touched.
Oops.
He glanced down and turned off all of his doohickies. I waved at his ears, and he removed the wires.
“Why does Wilson have you working here?” I asked once he was wire-free. He made every effort to look perplexed as I continued, “Is hanging out in here part of your cover?” I pointed to his tape recorder. “Why aren’t you doing that down at the station?”
“Huh?”
“The police station, Kevin. I know what you’re doing.”
“You do?”
“Well, yeah. You’re transcribing what went on at the Wade On Inn last night.” I again pointed to the tiny tape recorder. “I didn’t realize Wilson wanted it verbatim like that.”
“Wilson?” Kevin continued acting confused, but he wasn’t much of an actor.
I rolled my eyes and waited patiently.
“Tessie, right?” he said. “Sorry, but it took me a minute to place you. We met at the bar last night?”
I continued rolling my eyes. “Yes, Kevin.”
“How’s your vacation going? Clarence must be a lot different than Honolulu.”
“Honolulu?” I repeated before it dawned on me. “Oh! Oh yes—Honolulu.” I winked and said I was enjoying my vacation. Then I assured him it was not my intention to get him in any trouble with his boss and stood up to leave.
“I’ll see you tonight?” he asked.
“I’ll be there.”
He pointed to his apparatus. “You won’t mention this to anyone, will you, Tessie?”
I may have giggled. “Of course not,” I said. “I have no idea who you are and vice versa, correct?”
“Correct,” he said and offered yet another puzzled expression.
***
Ricky Wellington’s expression was one of glowing approval. His smiling face beamed down at me as I perused a display of chai tea near the cash register. No tea for me. I was already laden with a basketful of unnecessary and inordinately expensive treats for my friends and family, courtesy of Wellington Market.
Snowflake and Wilson’s cats would be getting organic catnip toys, my mother, a jar of lavender hand cream, Karen, a box of chocolate and sea salt covered almonds, Candy, an eyeliner made from pure Egyptian kohl, whatever that was, Puddles, a jingle-bell ball of his very own, and Wilson, two packages of fresh tagliatelle noodles, which I hoped would live at my condo until he found some yummy use for them.
Ian, of course, could look forward to a couple of sandwiches made with his favorite bacon and prepared by his least favorite person. And I, a fancy bottle of unusual champagne. I would need it, what with serving my ex-husband lunch two days in a row.
Indeed, about the only thing I hadn’t obtained during my shopping spree at Wellington Market was any insight on Spencer Erring or his in-laws. The photograph of Spencer’s father-in-law near the checkout counter was not exactly enlightening. All I could say for certain was that Dixie Wellington-Erring’s father was almost as handsome as her husband.
Ricky Wellington did look a bit smarter than his son-in-law, and mighty prosperous in his three piece suit, but really that was all.
I made it up to the cashier, and as I emptied my basket of goodies onto the counter, I attempted some less than idle chitchat. Pointing to the picture of Mr. Wellington I asked if they were a local family. “Wellington Markets is a southern chain, isn’t it?”
“The company’s based in Atlanta,” the cashier informed me as he rang up my items. “Mr. Wellington lives there.”
“But why did I think he has family in Clarence? A daughter, maybe?”
“And a son—Ricky, Jr.”
“Ricky, Jr.?” I tried hiding my enthusiasm at learning something new, however small and inconsequential. “So there are two Wellington children in Clarence? Do they ever come in here?” I asked. “Do they work here?”
I stalled in finding my credit card and glanced around the store, deftly avoiding the annoyed looks from the people in line behind me.
The cashier told me the ridiculously high total and waited for me to slide my card. “The Wellingtons must get their groceries somewhere else,” he said. “And they definitely don’t work here.”
“I wonder where they do work?” I tilted my enquiring head at the cashier, and then toward the shuffling and sighing people behind me, and then at the photo of Ricky Wellington, Sr.
The cashier waved a hand in front of me. “Paper or plastic, ma’am?”
***
“Goldilocks Whoever-She-Is seems way tougher than Kevin Cooper,” I told Snowflake as I dressed for my second night at the Wade On Inn. I wiggled into another tight sweater, this one in pink. “But if he’s carrying a gun along with that tape recorder, I guess I’ll be safe enough.”
I pressed my index finger to my lips when I heard Candy and Karen at the door and reminded the cat that none of us were supposed to know who the undercover cops were.
My friends were dressed much as they had been the previous evening, but this time Karen had control of the jewelry box, and Candy was carrying a Tate’s shopping bag in addition to her cosmetic case.
I eyed the Tate’s bag. “What’s in there?” I forced myself to ask.
Candy jiggled the little pink bag before my eyes. “It’s another push up bra, Jessie! I told you we were having a sale.” She pointed to my chest. “You can’t wear that one all week,” she scolded and pulled out a gloriously red contraption.
“Kiddo’s got some more gems in here, too.” Karen held up the jewelry box and led the way to my dressing table.
***
They weren’t exactly gems, but the enormous seashell earrings and matching necklace my friends selected for me that evening were priceless.
And as we entered the Wade On Inn I could tell Henry the bouncer was duly impressed with my nautically-inspired ensemble.
Elsa Quinn noticed also. “Those from Hawaii?” She pointed to my ears as Candy ordered a pitcher of unpalatable beer.
“Eddie Munster goes Hawaiian,” Karen mumbled.
“How do you know where I’m from?” I asked Elsa. It couldn’t be a good thing if the regulars were talking about me?
“From Henry.” She jerked her head toward the pool table. “He keeps me posted on what he hears over there.”
“Have you ever been to Hawaii?”
“Heck no. I can’t afford anything like that.”
“You’d like it.” I spoke with confidence, despite the fact that I had no idea what I was talking about.
“No kidding,” Elsa agreed. “Sitting on a beach, drinking something other than beer and thinking about something other than my bank balance? Sounds good to me.”
She knocked on the bar and left us, and I searched around for familiar faces. Goldilocks the Cop was in her assigned seat nursing a drink, and Mackenzie was at the opposite end of the bar.
She must have finished her homework for the weekend, since she had her head in a Kindle. I assumed she was reading a classic—the kind of intellectual and edifying stuff I had enjoyed when I was young and studious, just in a different format.
I turned back to Candy, who was pouring our beers and doing her best to ignore the red-headed guy who had sat down next her, apparently for the sole purpose of ogling her cleavage. She handed me a glass which I promptly handed off to Karen. If only the music at the Wade On Inn were so easy to avoid.
A glutton for punishment, I took a moment to listen to what sounded like a whole chorus of men gargling with gravel as they sang—and I use that verb loosely—about a tractor pull. I blinked twice and double-checked. Yep, a tractor pull.
“Who’s this?” I asked.
“Boomerang!” You guessed it—Karen loves their stuff. She took a gulp of beer and handed me her half-full plastic cup. “Here goes nothing,” she said and headed to the dance floor, where Bobby Decker was waiting with open arms.
Candy also got down to business. She held out an index finger and lifted the Red-Headed Ogler’s chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. “My friend Tessie here, is a fantastic pool player,” she told him. “Come see.” And with that, she dropped his chin and hopped off her barstool.
“Let’s go, Tessie,” she urged. She grabbed our pitcher, and despite the red-head’s lack of cooperation, the two us of meandered our way toward the pool table. This took a while, since Candy stopped at every other table along the way to brag about what a great player I am.
Exhibit A, I stood by silently while my friend gathered interest, and by the time we were halfway across the room, she had four men following us and grabbing for their wallets.
Here goes nothing, I thought to myself. But just as I was passing by Karen and Bobby, someone tapped my shoulder.
I turned around to witness an elaborate Fred Astaire-type tap dance maneuver. But this guy was no Fred Astaire. He was about twice the size of Bobby and sported a leather vest which I believe went out of style in the seventies. He had a bandana tied around his head, and various chains of unknown purpose hanging from his person. Expert sleuth that I am, I deduced he was a biker.
“Wanna dance?” he asked. “It’s Boomerang!” Mr. Leather and Chains pointed to the ceiling and did another little jig, promptly toppling over the Drunken Dancer.
I mumbled a “No, thank you,” and together we helped the poor woman up. While she staggered back into swaying position, I escaped to the pool table.
Chapter 12
Evidently it was the night to stroke my middle-aged, menopausal ego. First the attention from Mr. Leather and Chains, and now this—Spencer Erring actually looking up from his game against Avis Sage to flash half a dimple in my direction.
“That man is way too handsome,” I said to the old ladies as I sidled on over.
Doreen fanned herself with two fifties. “Spencer is the spitting image of Harmon when he was that age.”
“Harmon was Ethel’s husband, correct?”
“Her gorgeous-to-a-fault dead husband,” Doreen elaborated.
“Doreen knows all about Harmon’s faults,” Ethel said, and the two old ladies laughed with their usual gusto.
“Spencer’s especially fetching when he’s bending over the pool table,” Doreen said. “His backside is even better than Harmon’s.”
Despite the fact that I had never seen Harmon’s derriere for accurate comparison, I chose to agree with Doreen.
“Spence is too young for you,” Melissa informed me. She turned to Doreen and Ethel. “And he’s way too young for you guys.”
“But let me guess,” Ethel said. “He’s just right for you?”
Melissa shrugged. “We’re both forty. It’s perfect.”
“Perfect,” Kevin grumbled. He took off his glasses and began the cleaning routine. Kevin was no match for Spencer, however, and all us women turned to watch the game.
Spencer lost to Avis and commenced flirting with Candy. Bless her heart, she shooed away all the men she had gathered earlier and gave him her undivided attention.
“He’s too old for your friend.” Melissa was still on topic. “He should know better by now.”
“Oh?” I said. “Does Spencer have a thing for younger women?”
“Don’t they all?”
We watched as Candy pulled a twenty from her cleavage and brushed the tip of Spencer’s finely chiseled nose with it. They both giggled, and I marveled at the drastic improvement in my friend’s acting skills since the previous evening.
I sighed dramatically. “The man in my life is smitten with a younger woman,” I said. “She’s even younger than Candy.”
“Smitten?” Melissa patted my shoulder and waved to Avis. “Tessie’s back. She wants to play me a match.”
The crowd groaned, and it was decided I should play Avis instead. I stepped up to the table, and we agreed on a match to five for fifty.
“You’ve been playing here a long time?” I asked him while we waited for the railbirds to conduct their own wagering.
“I’ve called this table home since way back when, Miss Tessie.”
I knew the answer, but asked anyway, “Did you ever go out on the road, sir?”
“A long time ago. But the old man’s not up to travelling anymore.” He patted his chest. “The ticker’s no good.”
Old sharks with faulty tickers. I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the stinging in my eyes.
“Now, don’t you be worrying about the old man.” Avis was studying me. “Doctor gave me some medicine.”
He patted his chest again, and we stepped forward for the lag, which he won. Melissa volunteered to rack, and while she did the honors, I brought the conversation around to Fritz Lupo.
“Did the guy who just died ever go out on the road?” I asked. “I understand he was a good player?”
“The Fox was talking about travelling again.” Avis smiled fondly at the pool table. “Fritz was lucky.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t mean no disrespect, Miss Tessie, but if he had to die, he picked the best way. Have a good night at the table and die right afterwards.”
“So, he played well that night?”
Avis nodded and broke. He sunk the one ball and ran the whole table, a repeat of our first game the previous night. This time though, I made use of my leisure to ask around about Fritz. Apparently, he had won over a thousand dollars the night he was killed.
“Considering how drunk he was, it was impressive,” Ethel said.
“Drunk?” I gave Candy a meaningful look, and she got the idea.
“Gosh, I thought people don’t do well if they drink too much.” She batted her eyelashes at Spencer, and he shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Fritz was even worse off than her.” He pointed to the Drunken Dancer. The poor woman had once agai
n fallen over, and Bobby was helping her up. “Melissa had to help him out.”
Melissa agreed. “Fritz was a goner all right.”
“You brood of vipers!” Henry Jack exclaimed as he popped over from his post near the stairs.
He waved his Bible aloft. But as he listed a whole smorgasbord of sins, including fornication, theft, adultery, avarice, deceit, licentiousness, pride, and folly, I had to wonder just how many vices were actually represented by the gang at the Wade On Inn. Apparently I wasn’t the only one confused by all the options.
Henry looked around at the perplexed faces of his audience. “Pastor Muckenfuss says intemperance is the work of the devil,” he concluded, simplifying matters considerably.
Avis Sage thanked him kindly for the sentiment.
“Would you stop encouraging him?” Melissa scolded. “Next thing we know he’ll have Pastor Muck-In-Face in here preaching to us himself.”
“No, Mel.” Henry shook his head vigorously. “Pastor Muckenfuss says the Wade On Inn is my responsibility.” He again lifted his Bible, and was threatening to regale us with some more sins, when Candy stepped forward.
“My friend Karen’s looking for a new dance partner,” she told him, and as if on cue, the music switched.
“It’s Lila Dewees,” Henry said. “She’s my favorite!”
Candy smiled sweetly and walked him arm in arm onto the dance floor. She left him in Karen’s capable hands and continued onward, landing herself back at the bar and next to Mackenzie. Wilson might insist Candy Poppe needs a chaperone twenty-four-seven, but she certainly was handling the Wade On Inn crowd with aplomb.
***
Meanwhile, I played some pool. I took game two and three of the match. But as Mr. Sage worked on clearing the table in our fourth game, I returned to Melissa and the topic of Fritz Lupo.
“Avis tells me Fritz Lupo was planning a road trip,” I said casually.
“No way,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, Mel.” I jumped and turned around and into Bobby Decker’s chest. “He was gonna take Angela with him.”
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