“At least it’s accurate.”
“Ah, so you get it?”
“I caught on when I saw the license plate.” He said my pen name again, emphasizing each of the three syllables. “Add-a-lay. That’s certainly what A Deluge of Desire was all about.”
I decided not to argue, informed Rye that I planned on spotting the murderer at this shindig, and turned away to people watch.
He lingered, apparently under the impression I was enjoying his company.
After a few moments of silence, he bent down and whispered in my right ear. “I figured out who your father was.”
“Oh?” I continued to study the crowd.
“Leon Hewitt,” he said. “Your daddy was Leon Cue-It Hewitt.”
“Oh?”
“He was a shark, Miss Hewitt.” Rye was speaking a bit too loudly and I told him so. He lowered his voice. “Cue-It Hewitt was one of the best pool players south of the Mason Dixon Line. In his heyday he took on Minnesota Fats a few times. And usually won.”
The Captain seemed so proud of his earthshaking report that I failed to mention quite a few hustlers had taken on the Fatman and won. Heck, even I had played him once or twice. I didn’t win, mind you, but I adored Mr. Wanderone. He was the guest of honor at my ninth birthday party.
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’ve discovered my deep dark family secret. And what, pray tell, does what my father did for a living have to do with Stanley Sweetzer’s murder?”
“Oh.” Rye sang the word. “Probably nothing.”
We watched as Candy and the financial gurus maneuvered their way over to the buffet table. I was marveling at how much food she could pile onto her miniature plate when Rye bent down and whispered again.
“I know your deep dark secret, too,” he said.
My shoulders tensed. “Oh?”
“You were arrested for hustling back in 1980.”
Chapter 12
I spun around and almost spilled my wine. “You do know what kind of hustling?”
“At pool, of course.” The damn cop was grinning. “You got busted at some dive outside Winston-Salem after hustling a little over five hundred dollars out of the sheriff’s nephew in a little under an hour.”
“I won that money fair and square.”
“Oh, Ms. Hewitt, I’m sure you did. But gambling on a pool game is a misdemeanor, isn’t it?”
I glared with all my might. “If Jimmy Beak ever gets wind of this, I will never speak to you again. That, sir, is a promise.”
Rye assured me my secret was safe with him. “My job is to protect the public, remember?”
“Gee, I feel so much better now.”
“What I can’t figure out is how you got off so easy. You never even paid a fine from what I can tell.”
“I wore a low cut dress and smiled real pretty at the judge.” I continued glaring. “Believe it or not, that kind of thing worked for me once upon a time. The old coot didn’t even slap my delicate little wrist.”
“And?” Rye asked. “Can we assume you quit your night job after that?”
“Hell, no. I still had another year’s tuition at Duke to pay for.”
He laughed out loud. “You’re a little scary. You know that?”
I didn’t argue.
Rye cleared his throat. “So, when did you quit hustling? Or have you?”
“I just told you.” I finished my wine and placed the empty on a tray that was passing by. “When I got my degree. Believe it or not, I hated gambling. And a girl hustling at a pool table could get herself into some fairly tight situations.” I raised an eyebrow. “You can imagine that?”
Rye’s face dropped.
“Oh, don’t look so alarmed, Captain.” I patted his forearm. “I haven’t played for anything more than the occasional bottle of champagne for decades. I’m what Daddy used to call a lamb. I could play for money, but I choose not to.”
Whether or not he believed me, we stopped talking and went back to people watching. I still hadn’t mastered the skill, but I continued scanning the crowd for murderers.
Eventually I gave up and asked Rye how he did it. “How do you recognize a murderer?” I said. “For instance, when did you decide I’m not the killer?”
He continued perusing the crowd. “Who says I’ve decided?”
“When?” I asked again.
“The night Sweetzer died,” he said. “When you served me tea.”
“Oh, really?”
“I’ve been a cop for twenty five years, Ms. Hewitt. And never once has a killer offered me a cup of tea at a murder scene. Much less wondered if I take cream or sugar.”
“So all this harassment you’ve been giving me since then has been for the fun of it?”
“Remember my boss. The chief wasn’t as convinced as me.” Rye shrugged. “Heck, I might still be wrong about you.”
“Yeah, right.”
I turned my attention back to the crowd and spotted Candy. She had finally finished eating and was back to talking with Evan and his colleagues. She said something that had everyone laughing.
“Candy called you this morning?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Yep.”
“She didn’t do it, you know?”
“Yeah, right.”
I turned around. “Come on, Captain. Surely even you can see why she didn’t tell you everything? Her argument with Stanley doesn’t mean anything at all,” I insisted. “Except that she’s fickle about men, correct?”
Rye stared straight ahead. Straight at Candy.
“Listen,” I said as a wave of panic swept over me. “If you’re so willing to let me off the hook based on some sort of intuition, why not give Candy the benefit of the doubt, too?”
Rye finally caught my eye. “She’s never served me tea.”
***
Bless his heart, Lieutenant Densmore relieved me of the captain, and they wandered off to harass someone else for a nice change of pace. I took a few deep breaths and walked over to join Candy.
“Serve champagne at my funeral,” I told her. “Promise me?”
She looked up from Evan, who was kneeling in front of her, doing who knows what with her shoe. “I’m sorry, Jessie. What’s that?”
“I said, be sure to serve champagne, preferably Korbel, at my funeral.”
“Okay.” She startled me by starting to cry. “Oh, Jessie, don’t you die, too!”
I reached across Evan and gave her a little hug. “Introduce me to your friends, Sweetie.”
Evan stood up and frowned. “We’ve already met,” he said and mumbled an almost inaudible ‘unfortunately.’
Vikki Fitkin and Blaine Notari also seemed less than thrilled at my intrusion. They were about the same age as Evan, and I wondered how these people, who were so very young, managed the investments of people my own age. Thomas Fell was a couple of decades older than his co-workers and much more eager to please. He shook my hand, and insisted that he hadn’t believed a word of what Jimmy Beak was saying about me.
“We all work at Boykin and Dent.” Thomas continued pumping my hand. “With Stan. What a great guy! And sharp. Did you invest with Boykin and Dent, Jessica?”
I yanked my hand away. Why the heck did that subject have to come up?
But before I had a chance to think of a response, Evan jumped in. “Jessie was working with Stan,” he announced in a loud and clear voice.
“But that’s great!” Thomas, too, was almost shouting. “I’d be happy to take over for you, Jessica! Now that Stan’s gone!”
He looked at me, his eyes wide, and I tried not to curl my lip.
“We’ve been talking about Stanley,” Candy explained unnecessarily.
“Candy here’s been telling us about a side of Stan we never saw at the office.” Blaine Notari chuckled at his colleagues. “The lighter side of Sweetzer—who would have guessed it?”
“Certainly, not I.” Vikki pursed her lips and scowled at Candy. “Stan probably liked you because then he didn’t have t
o be serious with you.”
Candy may not have caught the bitchy tone of that, but I did. I studied Vikki, and Rye’s old theory that jealousy might have prompted Stanley’s demise popped into my head.
But Vikki certainly had no reason to be jealous of Candy’s looks. The woman was adorable. She wore glasses, which looked cute on her pointy little face, and she had scads of curly red hair. She came eye to eye with me, which meant she was tall. Her grey skirt suit was not all that flattering, but it was well made, and I assumed it was her uniform for funerals.
“You know, Vikki,” I said. “Thomas here might have a point. Now that poor Stanley’s gone, I probably should hire a new financial advisor.” I smiled pleasantly. “Maybe I could meet with you sometime?”
“With me?” She seemed confused.
So did Thomas. I pretended not to notice and concentrated on Vikki. “You’re an investment counselor just like Stanley was, correct?”
“Umm, sure. Jessica, is it?” Vikki tore her gaze from Candy and Evan, who were busy tasting each other’s drinks, and glanced back at me. “Come down to Boykin and Dent anytime. I’ll be glad to help you.”
Thomas walked off in a huff. And when I noticed Margaret Sweetzer and Amanda Crawcheck coming toward us, teeth bared, I took Candy’s glass from her, handed it to Evan, and insisted it was time for us to leave also.
***
Karen called me early that evening. “Turn on your TV, Jess. Like, now.” Something in her tone made me obey without question, and I rushed over to the bedroom, where my twelve-inch, seriously outdated television sat on the dresser. “Channel 8,” she instructed and hung up.
I clicked to Channel 8 and saw my face plastered across the screen. Lord help me—I had made the national news. I plopped myself on the edge of the bed and watched in horrified disbelief as Dee Dee Larkin, an anchorwoman even I recognized, reported to the whole wide world that I was under investigation for murder.
It got worse when she mentioned Stanley’s job at Boykin and Dent and my supposed investments with the firm. Then she started describing my books, and Adelé Nightingale’s penchant for heroes who bore an uncanny resemblance to Stanley Sweetzer.
“I am going to kill Jimmy Beak,” I said to the TV screen.
Snowflake purred in agreement and started kneading the duvet cover.
Dee Dee Larkin concluded with some comment about ‘borderline pornography,’ and Channel 8 mercifully cut to a commercial for a new kind of pain reliever.
I turned off the TV and began plotting the demise of Mr. Beak. But then the photograph Channel 8 had used flashed into my mind. Only one person had that picture of me.
***
Louise Urko answered her phone after half a ring. “Wasn’t that fantastical, Jessica?”
“You’re fired,” I informed her and hung up without further ado.
She called me back within seconds. “Fantastical!” she shouted again. “We’re opening a bottle of Korbel up here! I mean, the whole staff insisted on a little celebration in your honor.”
“My honor? Dee Dee Larkin has just informed the entire nation that I write borderline pornography, Louise.” I started pacing. “Do you want to explain to me how she got that idea?”
“Because that’s what I told her!” Louise screamed. “Isn’t it just fantastical?”
I listened as my deranged agent took a gulp of champagne. Drinking did seem like a good idea. I paced over to the fridge and found a half-finished bottle of Korbel in the door.
“You see, Jessica,” Louise was saying. “After we spoke yesterday, I got hold of some footage from that Timmy Beaky guy you told me about. The man is brilliant! I mean, beyond brilliant!”
I interrupted to inform her that his name is Jimmy Beak. “And he most certainly is not brilliant.”
“And while I was watching Timmy Beaky’s report on you and Adelé, it dawned on me. ‘Louise!,’ I said to myself, ‘if only we could pull off getting this reported nationally. Just think of Jessica’s sales figures then!’”
Another champagne cork popped in the background.
“So, how exactly did you pull it off?” I heard myself asking. “The national news? Adelé Nightingale is not that well known.”
“Yet!” Louise screamed.
I closed my eyes and imagined my manic agent doing a manic dance to the commission gods in the middle of her office.
“Oops.” Louise laughed. “I almost fell off my desk!”
Okay, make that the middle of her desk.
“We are so lucky, Jessica—I mean, sooooo lucky—that it was a slow news day. I only had to make twenty or thirty phone calls to get this thing rolling. Dee Dee was, like, sooooo interested! She asked if there were any latest developments that she could add. You know, to spice it up a bit? So this afternoon I called Timmy Beaky back!”
I gave up on my glass and drank directly from the Korbel bottle.
Louise continued, “Timmy told me you were the dead guy’s prime investor! He said he had just learned about it today! From a confidential source, he said! So then I told Timmy the good news about Dee Dee Larkin, and he asked if I could finagle a job interview for him, and I told him I’d work on it, and then I called Dee Dee right back. And then I gave her all the details, and she said you would be the second to top story, right after that scandal in Congress about—”
“Stop!” I shouted and poor Snowflake jumped. I lowered my voice. “Please, Louise.” I put down the bottle and rubbed my forehead. “Just, stop.”
Geez Louise, of course, did not stop. “Can you imagine the sales figures from this, Jessica! This is going to catapult Adelé Nightingale into blockbuster status! Blockbuster, Babe!” Louise actually hesitated. “Oh, God,” she said. “I think I need to sit down.”
I listened while someone in the background helped her off her desk and into a chair.
“Borderline pornography,” I reminded her while she hyperventilated into the receiver. “Dee Dee Larkin just told the world that I’m a pornographer with faulty finances.”
“And?” Louise asked as I heard another champagne cork pop. “What’s your point, Jessica?”
I thought about the faulty finances thing and decided to concentrate on the pornography angle instead. “I am not a pornographer,” I said firmly. “I write historical romances, remember?”
Louise laughed. “Well, Jessica, you know that, and I know that, but trust me—the thousands, and thousands, and thousands of people who are right this very minute in the process of buying Windswept Whispers and your entire back list do not know that!”
“So my integrity as an artist means nothing to you?” I actually said this with a straight face.
“Mark my words, Jessica. This will put Adelé Nightingale on The Times bestseller list by Sunday. Blockbuster, Babe. Think blockbuster!”
“And just imagine how my sales would skyrocket if I actually got convicted of murder.”
Louise didn’t catch the sarcasm, since she was too busy planning the sale of the movie rights to Windswept Whispers. “I wonder if we could get Penelope Cruz to play Ava La Tellier,” she mused. “Penelope would be a fantastical Ava—don’t you think? All dark and sultry?”
Okay, so I could picture Penelope in that role. But I was not about to agree with my agent about anything right then.
“And your picture, Jessica! Did you notice?”
Indeed I had. Geez Louise had given Dee Dee Larkin the photograph of Adelé Nightingale scheduled for release with Temptation at Twilight.
“I suppose I should thank you for letting the entire world know exactly what I currently look like?” I asked.
“Oh, but, Jessica! You look so much better than you used to. With that little blond hairdo? You’re looking downright perky these days!”
“Perky!?” I interrupted. “You know damn well I have never been perky a day in my life.”
Louise giggled. “Well, Jessica, you know that, and I know that, but—”
I hung up before I fired her again.
<
br /> Chapter 13
“Borderline pornography!” Ian screamed into the phone, and I wondered if I had been too hasty hanging up on Louise. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I informed my ex-husband I was listening to him have a hissy fit and poured myself more champagne.
“Not funny, Jessie. I am really, really, not in the mood.”
I understood why when I heard Amanda shrieking “Borderline pornography” over and over again in the background.
“Amanda’s very upset.”
“So I gathered.”
“You’re way too old to be pulling these stunts.” Ian increased the volume. “Amanda and I have our reputations to consider, even if you don’t. I’m ashamed to be associated with you.”
I reminded my ex that he no longer was associated with me, but he continued ranting anyway. Indeed, it was rather impressive, the way he could keep his train of thought, what with Amanda standing nearby, screeching something about my “stunts.”
“First you go and get yourself arrested for freaking murder,” Ian shouted. “Then you play it up for publicity. What the hell were you doing at Stan’s funeral, anyway? And don’t think I didn’t notice you flirting with that cop all afternoon. The guy’s got to be a good ten years younger than you, Jessie. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“I’m making a fool of myself? In case you haven’t noticed, Ian, your new wife is at least twenty years younger than you. And in case you’re too stupid to realize it, her stellar reputation is a figment of your imagination.”
“Amanda’s reputation is none of your business.”
“Excuse me? Didn’t you just tell me—”
I stopped myself before I popped an artery. I even considered hanging up. But I am not that highly evolved.
I took a long, deep, breath and continued in an exceedingly calm voice. “My love life is none of your business,” I said. “I will flirt with anyone I choose, anywhere I choose, anytime I choose. And I have not been arrested for murder, as you well know. Captain Rye—you remember Wilson Rye, Ian? The hunk you say is far too young for me? He thinks I’m innocent now.”
“Jessica Hewitt has never been innocent.” Ian may have snorted, but his voice was calmer, too. And I noticed the background cacophony had ceased altogether. Perhaps Amanda had tired herself out and left the room to go sulk in her coven.
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