Normal routines. I groaned quietly, rolled out of bed, and made a bee line for the coffee pot.
“Why the hell are you calling me at this hour?” I asked Rye.
“Are you always this pleasant in the morning?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I pressed the on-switch and opened some blinds to another beautiful day. “And no, actually. I’m usually up and writing way before this.”
“Candy Poppe’s bond hearing is first thing on Judge Singh’s docket this morning,” Rye informed me. “She should be released by ten o’clock.”
“Thank you,” I stopped mid-blind. “Really, Captain. Thank you.”
“I thought you might be interested.”
“There’s still no chance of Carter O’Connell getting out?”
“We been over this already, Ms. Hewitt.”
“Well,” I whined. “If you’re willing to admit Candy might be innocent, then maybe Carter is, too.”
“Have you ever even met the guy?”
I blinked at Snowflake. “Umm, no.”
“But you still insist he’s innocent? Based on what?”
I gave up. Arguing with Wilson Rye before my morning coffee was far too challenging. I thanked him again for his help with Candy and promised to be there at ten to pick her up.
“I thought that might be the case.” He stayed on the line while I chose a coffee mug.
“Is there anything else, Captain?”
“We’re still in agreement, right? You’re going to keep quiet about the continuing investigation?”
I rolled my eyes and promised not to mention it to anyone, but he still didn’t hang up.
“Anything else?” I held the coffee pot aloft, waiting for who knows what.
“Well,” he sang. “I’m just a little curious is all.”
“Oh?”
“Last night when you were asking about my family—my parents and kids and cats?”
“What about them?”
“I’m wondering why didn’t you ask about my wife?”
“What!?” I spilled the coffee and burned my hand.
I did some quick thinking as I sucked on my index finger. Hadn’t Candy assured me ages ago that Rye was single?
“Ms. Hewitt? Are you still there?”
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “Okay.” My voice was exceedingly calm. “What about your wife?”
“I don’t have one of those,” he said and hung up.
***
Why me?
But I had too many other things on my mind to worry about whatever it was Rye wanted me to worry about. I showered and dressed, promised Alexis and Rolfe I would get them out of their current fix as soon as I got Candy out of hers, and drove to the police station.
I was trying to figure out where to go when a uniformed officer took pity on me. She directed me to a narrow hallway lined with straight backed chairs reminiscent of the one Alexis Wynsome had rested her curvaceous bottom on in Maynard Snipe’s turret.
I sat my own skinny butt down and waited, staring at the closed door, through which I imagined Candy would emerge. Lord knows, there was nothing else to stare at. The drab beige hallway had no windows, no pictures, no outdated magazines piled up on an ugly end table. I almost felt like I was the one imprisoned.
I checked my watch occasionally, and by 10:15 had begun to worry something had gone wrong at the hearing. When Lieutenant Densmore came out to join me, I was sure of it.
“The captain told me you would be here,” he said. “How are you, ma’am?”
“I’ve been better, Lieutenant.” I invited him to sit. “Is Candy okay?”
“The paperwork’s taking a little longer than usual,” he said as he took the chair next to me. “It’s not every day we let a suspect in a first-degree murder out on bail.”
Now, how exactly was I supposed to handle that statement? Especially since I had no idea how much Rye confided in this guy? I mumbled something about getting a headache and resumed careful watch of the door.
Densmore watched with me. “You know,” he said after a few minutes. “I just can’t figure it out.”
I looked up. “What’s that?”
“Who murdered Stanley Sweetzer. Can you?”
“All I know is Candy’s innocent.” I caught myself. “No matter what your boss says.”
“And you’re innocent?”
I blinked twice. “You don’t happen to have an Advil on you?”
“I think we should keep looking.”
I blinked again. “For the murderer? But Captain Rye has closed the case, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. Once we get your sofa returned, we’ll be finished with this one until the trial.”
My couch. Here was a problem that might actually have a solution. I asked the lieutenant when I might expect to get it back.
“We can probably deliver it this afternoon. Would that be convenient?”
“Fine with me. Just don’t tell Audrey Dibble.”
“Let me guess, she has some weird problem with your sofa?”
“Apparently it’s hazardous to my chakras.”
Densmore chuckled. “Interviewing the Dibbles all week has been pretty entertaining.”
“Audrey thinks it was jealousy, you know? She thinks someone was jealous of Stanley—either of his love life, or his job, or his money.” I studied the lieutenant for a reaction, but he stared at the door and refused to catch my eye.
I leaned forward and tilted my head, blocking his view of the stupid door. “Is that what you think, sir?”
Densmore looked at me. “I think it’s about the money we found. The Captain’s told you about that, right?”
“He has. And if Stanley didn’t win it from my ex, I would love to hear your theory.”
“That money got him killed,” Densmore said firmly. “Think about it, ma’am. Stanley Sweetzer was a fairly average guy. He had a good job and a pretty girlfriend. A nice apartment, some friends. Nothing out of the usual, except the load of cash in his apartment—”
“Jessie!” Candy teetered in the doorway.
I jumped up and ran to greet her.
***
“Can we have tea?” Candy asked for the third time in a row.
I stopped at a red light and once again assured her tea was on the way. “But let’s get you home first, okay?”
No answer. She stared out the passenger window and chewed her knuckle. The light turned green and I hit the gas.
We repeated the same, not so compelling conversation several more times before we made it into our building, where I steered her toward the elevator. But the thing never works, and while I was busy throwing a few bad words at it, Mr. Harrison popped his head out of his door. I could have sworn the man was actually smiling, but I had too much on my mind to worry about the peculiar mood swings of Peter Harrison. I waved politely, guided Candy into the stairwell, and up to my place.
Bless her heart, Snowflake made a to-do the moment we entered. She purred and purred, and wrapped herself around Candy’s ankles, making it almost impossible for her to walk.
Despite the cat, Candy followed me into the bathroom where I handed her my coziest, plushiest terrycloth robe.
“Take a shower,” I told her. “It’ll make you feel better, and then we can talk.” I held up a hand before she could ask again. “With tea.” I closed the door and waited to hear the water running before moving to the kitchen.
As I puttered around the stove, I noticed another message from Louise Urko blinking on my answering machine. This time I pushed the button and listened.
“Jessica!” Geez Louise’s scream startled poor Snowflake. She jumped up and hissed at the phone jack as Louise informed us she had news. “Call me!”
I braced myself and dialed.
“Jessica!” She answered on the first ring. “I have fantastical news! I mean, beyond fantastical!” I held the receiver about a foot away from my ear as Louise continued, “Adelé’s made The Times paperback list! Winds
wept Whispers will be number four by the weekend! And don’t even get me started on your e-book numbers. Off the freaking chart! Blockbuster, Babe! This is it!” she shrieked. “It!!”
Oh, my Lord. Making The New York Times Bestseller List really is ‘It!!’ I did a little dance of joy around the kitchen counter, twirling a teaspoon over my head, and singing ‘Blockbuster, Babe,’ while Louise chanted a few thousand ‘Fantasticals.’
Who knows how long we would have gone on like that if Louise hadn’t gotten a grip.
“Gotta go,” she chirped as we both came up for breath. “I’m off to Three P to do the lunch thing.” Three P is our affectionate nickname for Perpetual Passions Press, my publisher.
“They’re looking to re-negotiate your contract,” Louise continued. “They want to release Temptation at Twilight in hardcover! Can you even believe it, Jessica? Hardcover!”
I allowed myself one resounding ‘Hardcover, Babe!’ before returning to sanity. I reminded my agent that our good fortune might be short lived. “I’m no longer making the evening news,” I said. “And, of course, I did not kill Stanley.”
“Oh, who cares?” Louise scolded. “Haven’t you been listening to me? The New York Times Bestseller List!”
I laughed. “Okay, okay. But can’t I still be grateful I won’t need to finish Temptation at Twilight from a jail cell?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jessica. Everyone knows you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
***
Candy emerged from the bathroom and dumped the rather sad, beige, and totally un-Candyish skirt suit Anthony De Sousa had her wear for her court appearance at the front door.
“You’re smiling,” she told me as she padded over in her bare feet.
“It’s good to have you home.”
I pursed my lips and tried to stop my smiling, but images of Temptation at Twilight in hardcover were making me positively giddy. I pictured a deep blue jacket, with Adelé Nightingale’s name imprinted in metallic gold…or perhaps silver. And with Alexis Wynsome sitting atop a glowing white stallion, a full moon in the background…
I looked up and scowled. Where in the world was Rolfe?
“Your couch?” Candy spoke loudly and I realized she had been standing before me, asking after my couch for who knows how long.
“Couch.” I glanced at the empty spot where she was waving. “Lieutenant Densmore promised to bring it back later today.”
“He’s really nice, isn’t he?”
I shook my head. Who else but Candy Poppe would consider one of the cops who threw her in jail ‘really nice?’
“I do believe Densmore thinks you’re innocent.” I directed her toward the easy chairs and carried over the tea. “No matter what his boss insists,” I added dutifully.
“And you think I’m innocent, right?”
“I do.” I sat down across from her. “So let’s try to figure this out.”
“But how?” she whined. “I don’t know who killed Stanley. I’ve been thinking about it all the time, and I really, really don’t know.”
“Lieutenant Densmore thinks it has something to do with all the money they found in Stanley’s apartment,” I suggested. “Have you given any more thought to that?”
“Didn’t we decide it came from his poker games?”
“Apparently the cops have ruled out that out.”
Candy started chewing her knuckle, which looked like it had taken quite a bit of abuse the past few days.
“What about Stanley’s job?” I asked. “I understand he had gotten a promotion?”
“Gosh, how do you know about that, Jessie? It just happened.”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks ago. Mr. Dent made Stanley a Senior Investment Analyst. Stanley was, like, super excited about it.”
“Was anyone at his office not so super excited?” I asked. “Was anyone jealous?”
“Thomas Fell,” she answered without hesitation. “You remember him from the funeral? Thomas was the one who’s almost as old as you are.”
I thanked her for the reminder. “He was anxious to get my business, correct?”
“That’s Thomas alright.”
“He was angry about Stanley’s promotion?”
Candy looked down and studied her tea. “I know what you’re trying to do, Jessie, but I don’t think so, okay? I don’t like this—blaming people for killing Stanley.”
I gently reminded her that someone was to blame. “And unless we figure out who, you and Carter are in worse trouble than ever befo—”
Oops.
She looked up. “You know about Carter and me?”
“Umm.” I swallowed. “Captain Rye might have mentioned something.”
Candy tilted her head, waiting for more.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sweetie, but I thought I should know the details if I’m going to try to help you. So I checked for you and Carter in the Clarence Courier’s web site.
She wrinkled her nose. “Did you find that article about Judge Sheppard?”
I nodded.
“It was awful, huh?” Candy looked like she was about to cry. But she quickly recovered, sat up straight, and looked me in the eye. “I’ve been really, really good since then, Jessie. I swear to God, I have.”
“I know that, Sweetie.”
We shared an awkward silence.
“I looked up all of our neighbors while I was at it,” I said eventually.
That perked her up. She sat forward and asked what I had learned. “Has anyone else ever been arrested?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know of. The Courier had nothing at all on Bryce.”
“Why not?”
“Well, the guy’s only lived in Clarence a couple of years. It’s probably a good thing he hasn’t been in the news.” I sipped my tea. “I didn’t find much on Karen, either. The web site doesn’t go back to when she was in school.”
“I wonder what she was like in high school,” Candy said. “I wonder if she ever got in trouble.”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. But what she did—what anyone did—in high school really isn’t the issue, is it?”
“Why did you look her up then?”
Okay, good question.
I shrugged again. “I must be turning into a nosey old lady.”
For some reason Candy didn’t argue. I sipped my tea and thought about our other neighbor.
“I looked up Peter Harrison, too,” I said.
Indeed, my research into our most reclusive neighbor had yielded surprising results. The Clarence Courier’s web site had a plethora of articles on him. It seems Mr. Harrison had enjoyed a successful career teaching music and band at Clarence Central High School. He had been named Teacher of the Year on a regular basis, and his star students were forever earning this or that music scholarship or award.
“Did you know him in high school?” I asked.
“Mr. Harrison?”
I summarized my research and Candy’s eyes got wide. “You mean, our Mr. Harrison.” She pointed downward. “Is that Mr. Harrison?”
“Apparently so. The last article I found was about his retirement party. It was from the same year you and Carter—” I stopped.
“The same year we went before Judge Sheppard?” she asked.
“I take it you were never one of Mr. Harrison’s students?”
“Carter and me didn’t do any school activities like that. I was never in the band or chorus or anything.” Candy scowled, apparently recollecting the old band teacher from her school days. “He looks a lot different than he used to.”
“He’s been sick,” I reminded her.
“I wonder when he got so grouchy.”
“I wonder about Karen,” I said. “Maybe she knew him when she was at Clarence High.” I frowned at Snowflake and made a mental note to ask Karen about it.
“What about you, Jessie?”
I looked up. “What about me?”
“What were you like in high school?”
&nbs
p; Oh, good Lord. It was one thing to ponder everyone else’s ancient history, but why bring up mine?
“Fair’s fair,” Candy said. “Tell me.”
“I was tall and unpopular. Not many kids were interested in shooting pool. And other than basketball, that’s all I cared about.”
“Boys must have liked you.”
I shook my head. “Like I said, I was too tall. And too competitive. Boys didn’t like losing to girls back then.”
“I bet you were smart, though. I bet you got straight A’s.”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you never got into trouble.”
I smiled to myself. “Not in high school, anyway.”
“Not ever,” Candy insisted. “I bet you’ve always been good.”
I took a deep breath. “Umm, Sweetie?” I asked. “Have I ever told you how I paid for college?”
Chapter 19
After learning about my own sordid past, Candy told me I’m a little scary and went home to rest. She may have agreed to stay inside and hide, but I was not so inclined. Talk about a little scary—I was planning a visit to Boykin and Dent Investment Associates.
Thus I donned hose and heels for the second day in a row. “So much for my Huck Finn impersonation,” I complained to Snowflake as I added pearls to the silk blouse and skirt ensemble I pulled from the back of the closet. This was my typical book-signing outfit, and I hoped it would make me look like a professional woman of means.
I ate a quick lunch and headed down to Stanley’s place of employment before I had time to change my mind or contemplate the consequences. If Captain Rye ever found out what I was up to, my cat would likely be orphaned.
I found the building, one of the few skyscrapers in Clarence, and hopped on the elevator to the top floor. Perhaps by the time I arrived at the Boykin and Dent offices, I would have some small clue as to what exactly I planned on doing.
An impressive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains greeted me from across the room as I stepped off the elevator. I ventured forth over the plush carpeting and stood before a huge S-shaped desk, where I gave my name to the receptionist—one Roslynn Mayweather, according to her desk plate.
She, too, was impressive in a formal, business-like way. She wore a suit which was probably even more expensive than my own outfit, and had an equally expensive floral print scarf expertly arranged around her neck. Her makeup had also been expertly applied. And her hair? Well, you get the picture. Unlike Karen and me, Ms. Mayweather was a woman born to wear pantyhose.
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