Playing with Poison: A Humorous and Romantic Cozy (Cue Ball Mysteries Book 1)

by Cindy Blackburn

  “We’re not being disrespectful to Stanley, sir.” Candy had turned to face Rye, and seemed to think he deserved even further explanation. “It’s just what Jessie and me drink is all.”

  Karen also jumped on the be-nice-to-Rye bandwagon. She patted the empty seat beside her and actually asked him to join us.

  I was contemplating a return to my cozy spot under the pool table, but Rye stepped away. He claimed he didn’t want to bother anyone, joined Densmore, and the two of them got lost in the crowd.

  I was really, really, ready to go, but Karen reminded me of the Jimmy Beak hazard, and Candy seemed content watching the pool game going on behind us. This seemed a pleasant enough diversion. I turned to watch the game, but also kept a wary eye on the cops.

  Densmore sat down with the Dibbles, but much to my chagrin, Rye had also gotten interested in the pool game. He stood in the back corner, and I noticed he had taken off his suit jacket and tie. Apparently, he had lost the gun also.

  Eventually, Kirby invited him to play. Kirby Cox is, by far, the worst pool player I have ever met. But what he lacks in skill, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.

  No big surprise, Captain Rye won the game against Kirby. Then he played Gus and beat him also. He was looking around for another victim when Candy jumped up and pointed to me. I could have killed her.

  “Jessie’s real good, sir. Ask her to play!”

  I refused, as did Rye, but then Densmore appeared and whispered something to his boss. Rye stared at me while listening to the lieutenant and apparently changed his mind. In fact, he grinned from ear to ear and asked me to reconsider.

  The two of them probably had some plan to force a confession out of me in the middle of the game, but I decided to take my chances. After all, someone had to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

  I hopped off my barstool as Bryce produced my cue from behind the bar.

  That got Rye’s attention. “You mean you have your own cue stick?”

  We locked eyes as I screwed my cue together.

  “When she dies we’re gonna dip it in gold and hang it over the table,” Bryce told him.

  I chalked up and asked Kirby to rack the balls. Then I turned to my opponent. “Do you plan on arresting me when I win?”

  “When, Ms. Hewitt?” He kept grinning. “Don’t you mean if?”

  I repeated my question, verbatim, and gestured for him to break.

  “Oh, no,” he said, offering a false bow. “Ladies first, I insist.”

  “You’ll be sorry,” Karen sang from behind me.

  I approached the table.

  ***

  While Kirby stood at attention saluting, I broke, knocking the three ball into the left corner pocket while I was at it. I scanned the table and enjoyed a bit of Jim Morrison singing “LA Woman” before continuing. The five and the two balls also fell easily, but the seven ball was going to be a challenge. I looked at where the cue ball had rolled and decided to bank it off the far bumper, clip the four and then pocket the seven.

  I walked over to where Rye was standing, stupefied and dumbfounded. He didn’t seem to notice he was in my way, so I tapped his chest with my index finger and asked him to please step back. He still looked perplexed, so I explained my plan for the seven ball.

  He glanced at the table. “No way,” he said. “No one can make that shot.”

  “Way.” I applied a bit more pressure with my index finger, and he finally moved.

  When the seven ball cooperated, Karen and Bryce high-fived each other across the bar, and Kirby saluted again, bless his heart. Candy bounced on her barstool and applauded, and even Densmore emitted a low whistle of appreciation. I smiled at the captain, who, I noticed, had suddenly ceased grinning.

  I smiled some more and returned to the table. But the cue ball hadn’t landed exactly where I had hoped, and I didn’t see much else to work with. I knocked a couple of balls into inconvenient spots and gave Rye his turn.

  While he studied the table, I chatted with Lieutenant Densmore. “I thought you guys weren’t supposed to drink?” I asked.

  “We’re off duty, ma’am.”

  Rye sunk the ten ball, and then the thirteen.

  “So you’re here just for the fun of it?”

  “Stanley Sweetzer was here last night.”

  “With the murderer?” I glanced away from the game and up at Densmore. “Maybe?”

  He shrugged noncommittally and watched Rye miss the fourteen ball.

  “What do you know about the Dibbles?” Densmore asked me.

  “They drink Long Island Iced Teas by the bucketful and Audrey’s a Libra.” I excused myself from the lieutenant and returned to the table. But Rye stopped me just as I was about to call the one ball.

  “I’ve been thinking about our discussions,” he said quietly.

  “Oh?” I tried walking around him, but he blocked me from the table and actually turned us around to face the wall.

  “And you still haven’t told me why Sweetzer showed up at your place last night.”

  “Maybe because I don’t know why.”

  “Another thing you haven’t told me.” Rye lowered his voice even further. “Is if he made a regular habit of calling on you. Alone, that is—without your friend Ms. Poppe in tow.”

  I held onto my cue with both hands and blinked at the brick wall in front of me. “Aren’t you off duty?” I asked.

  “Answer the question, please.”

  I continued studying the stupid wall. “There was nothing unseemly going on between Stanley Sweetzer and me.” My tone was firm.

  “So he had never visited you before?”

  “There was nothing sordid going on.” I dismissed the wall and glared at Rye. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  I turned and somehow forced my way around him and back to the table. “One ball,” I announced a bit too loudly. I knocked at the pocket near my right hip and made the shot. And before Rye could think of any more pesky questions, I took care of the rest of the solids and pointed to where the eight ball would fall.

  Candy hopped off her barstool and walked over to Rye as I made the shot and finished the game. The small group of onlookers clapped accordingly, and I offered a modest curtsy.

  “You see?” Candy said. “I told you Jessie’s good.”

  “Yes, Ms. Poppe.” Rye frowned. “It appears your friend has many talents.”

  I handed my cue back to Bryce and joined them. “Yeah, you know? Shooting pool, poisoning people, whatever.” I held out my hand and the captain shook it.

  “Where’d you learn to play pool like that?” he asked without letting go of my hand.

  I pulled back. “Once upon a time my father taught me.”

  I failed to share my family history with Captain Rye, but my father put the working half of a cue in my hand the day I could stand upright on my own. Our pool table presided over the dining room, and Daddy would drag a chair around for me to stand on until I was tall enough to reach over the rail. I was beating my older brother by the time I was seven and had even won a few games against my father since then. Rarely, but sometimes.

  Candy was still bragging to Rye. “I’ve never seen Jessie lose. Ever!”

  I looked at the captain. “She’s right,” I told him. “I seldom lose.”

  “Neither do I, Ms. Hewitt.”

  ***

  “Oh my gosh, Jessie,” Candy squealed as we arrived back home. “Captain Rye really likes you. I mean, he could not take his eyes off you while you were downing those balls right and left.” She pranced around the lobby, pretending to play pool with an imaginary stick. Apparently Stanley’s demise had slipped her mind.

  “Help me,” I asked Karen.

  She shrugged and unlocked her door. “The guy did keep his eyes firmly planted on your backside every time you bent over to take a shot.”

  “Charming, no?”

  “Actually, for some weird reason it was.” She walked inside and turned to Candy. “Call me if you need anything, Kiddo
,” she said and closed the door.

  “He’s not married,” Candy said as we walked up the stairs to our own places.

  “Candy,” I spoke sternly, “I do not care about that stupid cop’s marital status.” We reached her door. “Okay, so how do you know this?”

  “Like, duh!” She tapped her ring finger. “There’s no ring, okay? And I asked Lieutenant Densmore just to make extra-double sure.” She was quite proud of herself. “Captain Rye is single. And perfect for you.” She poked my shoulder with a hot pink fingernail.

  I folded my arms and glared. “You seem to forget the guy thinks I killed Stanley.”

  Mention of Stanley distracted Candy for a bit, and I was sorry I had spoken so gruffly.

  I patted her hand. “Okay, Sweetie. Tell me why Captain Rye and I are so darn perfect for each other.”

  She found a tissue in the tiny sequined purse she was carrying, blew her nose, and enlightened me. “Well, you’re both single,” she said, and I nodded. “And you have the same haircut.”

  I thought about that. Rye’s was dark with some graying at the temples, and mine was blond, with some help from my hairdresser. But I couldn’t argue there either.

  Encouraged, Candy continued, “And you’re both tall, and you both play pool, and you’re both old—” She caught herself. “Older, I mean. Captain Rye’s forty-seven.”

  “And how exactly do you know this?”

  “I asked him!”

  I did the math. “That would put me in cougar territory.”

  “So?”

  I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

  When I opened them again, Candy was smiling broadly. She turned around to unlock her door. “Gosh he’s a hunk, even if he is old. I mean, how could you not notice those eyes, Jessie?”

  I admitted that I had noticed the Captain’s lovely blue eyes. Lord knows I had glared into them often enough.

  Candy stepped inside her apartment. “And don’t you think the graying at his temples is to die for?”

  I told her she was giving me a headache and walked upstairs.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning Rolfe Vanderhorn got busy being heroic. He forded Lord Snipe’s moat and fought his way into the castle, fending off several guards and Maynard Snipe himself along the way. Alexis couldn’t see the struggle from behind the heavy door of her turret, but she heard the commotion in the winding stone stairwell, and prepared herself for the impending moment, when Rolfe would barge through the door, sweep her off her feet, and carry her to freedom, at last. To say the woman’s bosom trembled in anticipation would be an understatement.

  Rolfe did not disappoint. Indeed, he swash buckled his way into the turret, rescued a most grateful Alexis Wynsome, and delivered her forthwith to his charming cottage on the outskirts of the village.

  And now our hero was in the process of unbuckling a few things when a commotion arose outside my own door.

  “Go away,” I heard Captain Rye tell Jimmy Beak.

  “Grand Central Station,” I mumbled to Snowflake. I closed my computer and the two of us walked over to hear more.

  Rye’s arrival was adding a new mix to the mayhem, but Channel 15's finest had been camped out in the hall all morning. Apparently Jimmy Beak was under the impression that if he waited long enough, I would break down, open my door, and confess all, preferably while the camera was rolling.

  “Get lost, Beak,” Rye demanded. Jimmy offered some lame argument, but the captain was unfazed. “You can leave, or you can get yourself arrested for trespassing. Take your pick.”

  I heard retreating footsteps, but Rye had to assure me Jimmy and his cameraman had left the building before I opened the door.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he said when I peeked out.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I crossed my arms and blocked his entry.

  “May I come in?”

  “Could you really have arrested Jimmy?”

  “As long as this hallway is private property, he has no right to be here. Not without your permission.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Like when you remember to put a lock on that door downstairs?”

  So much for gratitude. I ushered Rye inside, but something about how he hesitated made my heart beat in a disturbing way.

  “What’s wrong now?” I had to ask.

  Rye took a deep breath. “I’m here to search your house.”

  “What!?” I screamed, and he held up his arms in self-defense. “Over my dead body!” I continued screaming. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for the poison?”

  “That, and we need to check your financial records.”

  “My financial records!?”

  He mumbled something about Stanley’s job as a financial advisor and pulled a truly sinister-looking document from his pocket.

  “Is this a warrant?” I stared aghast at the paper he handed me, and Rye confirmed that it was indeed a warrant.

  I let this startling information sink in for a few seconds before looking up.“Where’s my book?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My book, Captain. The one you stole from me yesterday.” I shoved the warrant back into his hands. “You plan on taking anything else while you’re at it?”

  I kid you not, the man actually grinned as he again reached into his suit pocket. This time he pulled out A Deluge of Desire. “You can’t blame a guy for being curious, can you? I read it when I got home last night.”

  I grabbed the book. “Even my most loyal fans need more than one night to finish one of these.”

  “Well,” he sang. “I only read the parts you were bragging about yesterday.”

  I folded my arms and glared. “Learn anything?”

  Lieutenant Densmore cleared his throat from the doorway, and we both jumped.

  I tossed Deluge on the coffee table. “I suppose you’re here to help sack the place?”

  Poor Densmore glanced at his boss, and Rye explained that while he searched for the poison, Densmore would be checking my financial records.

  My financial records. I blinked twice as it finally struck me what these cops were looking for. “You won’t find anything,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were one of Sweetzer’s clients, Ms. Hewitt?”

  “Because I’m not. I haven’t invested a dime with Stanley.” I folded my arms and resumed glaring. “I’m not lying.”

  “You’re not exactly telling the truth either. All those times I asked about your relationship with the guy? And you failed to mention this?”

  “I’ve been checking Stanley Sweetzer’s records at his job, ma’am.” That was Lieutenant Densmore. “He had a file on you. On your finances.”

  “That’s impossible,” I argued. “Stanley knew nothing about my finances.”

  “It’s a pretty detailed file,” Densmore added.

  “Detailed? But how—” I stopped short when I noticed the latex gloves emerging from the lieutenant’s pocket.

  Rye waited until he caught my eye. “You have any questions before we start?”

  Where to begin? I mumbled a no, and resigned myself to the inevitable as Densmore continued delivering the bad news. “After I finish here,” he told me, “I’ll also be talking with your bank, and with your accountant.”

  I plopped into an easy chair and groaned.

  The cops stared. “You do have an accountant, ma’am?” Densmore asked.

  “I’m, umm, between accountants right now.”

  “Between accountants?” Rye said. “What does that mean?”

  “It means my ex-husband is a CPA. Ian Crawcheck.” I groaned again. “I haven’t replaced him yet.”

  I focused on Snowflake, who was sitting at my feet nonchalantly cleaning her paws, and thought about the ominous implications of Densmore talking to Ian.

  Rye hovered until I looked up. “You have a right to stay and watch,” he informed me and headed to the kitchen.

  “W
ell then,” I said quietly, “I will.”

  ***

  Rye began an altogether futile attempt to discover poison in my refrigerator, but I was far more interested in Lieutenant Densmore’s task. I directed him to the large cardboard box under my bed. He pulled it out and set it between us on the coffee table. Then he delved on in with an enthusiasm my bank statements and tax returns truly did not merit. Even more remarkable—Densmore studied each document as if he actually understood the mumbo jumbo.

  Eventually, he came to some mumbo jumbo even he didn’t comprehend. “Tell me about these, ma’am?” He held up a stack of the statements my publisher sends me every quarter.

  “They’re my royalty statements from Perpetual Pleasures Press.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “My publisher, Lieutenant. I never understand the stupid things.”

  Densmore furrowed his brow and did his best to understand the stupid things. He even took out a pocket calculator and started crunching the numbers while I watched in awe.

  “Maybe I should hire you as my new accountant,” I suggested.

  Densmore said no thank you, and we were sharing a bit of nervous laughter when Rye passed by.

  “Bathroom’s next,” he said and headed in that direction.

  I stayed in the living room since I saw no need to watch Rye search my medicine cabinet. My calcium supplements and an outdated bottle of Advil couldn’t be all that incriminating.

  “Feel free to scoop out Snowflake’s litter box while you’re in there,” I called out, and Densmore chuckled again.

  Oh yes, I was thinking this search thing wasn’t so intimidating after all when Rye moved into my bedroom and started rummaging through my dresser drawers.

  I remembered my underwear drawer, filled to the brim with highly unsuitable lacy things purchased at Tate’s Department Store, and decided I was getting a headache. I picked up Snowflake and headed toward the door.

  “We’ll be on the roof,” I announced. My civil rights be damned, I needed some fresh air.

  ***

  I lost track of time sitting in my garden, staring off at the Blue Ridge, but eventually Rye emerged onto the roof. I folded my arms and refused to look up.