“Where were you Saturday night?”
She hiccupped. “You know about that, too?”
“I know you were AWOL from work, yes.”
“I swear to God and hope to die, I didn’t do it, Jessie!” She hiccupped again.
“But where were you?”
She petted Snowflake and refused to look up. “With Stanley,” she mumbled.
“What!?”
Candy jumped and poor Snowflake scurried into the bedroom. “Now do you see why I didn’t tell anyone?” she asked.
I stood up and started pacing.
“It gets worse,” she said.
“I can’t imagine how that’s possible, Candy!” I stopped and turned. “How?”
“We had a fight.”
“Oh, for Lord’s sake!” I plopped back into my chair and calmed myself. “Okay,” I said eventually. “Where were you, who saw you, and what on earth were you fighting about?”
“We were sitting in Stanley’s car in the parking lot at Tate’s. But I promise no one saw us.”
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.
“I broke up with him that night, Jessie.”
***
That revelation certainly opened my eyes. I stared aghast at my friend, who was slumped back in her chair staring at the ceiling.
“What am I gonna do?” she whined. “I’m so scared Captain Rye will find out, and it will look like I killed Stanley, huh?”
“But why did you break up with him?” I may have whined a bit myself. “I thought you were madly in love?”
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to hate me, okay? No matter what?”
I rolled my eyes, but Candy refused to answer until I had promised—and crossed my heart and hoped to die—that I would never hate her.
“I kind of ran into Carter O’Connell last week,” she said.
I asked who Carter was, and Candy explained they had gone to high school together.
“He went away to college. But now he’s back.”
“And let me guess, Carter’s an old boyfriend. The old friend you just happened to spend all of today with?”
“There, you see!” Candy threw her hands up. “I knew you’d hate me.”
“I do not hate you,” I insisted. But I did frown as I pondered the complex and perilous topic of my young friend’s love life. “Are there any other old boyfriends?” I asked. “Maybe from the bar?”
Her shoulders tensed.
“Someone who was jealous of you and Stanley?”
Candy gave it some thought, and I could almost see the extensive list scroll through her brain. “Definitely not Kirby or Gus,” she said. “Or Teddy, or Joey.” She squinted at the ceiling. “Or Marty, or Arty, or—”
I lost track after some guy named Burt and interrupted, “What about Bernie Allen?”
She jumped. “Gosh, no! Bernie’s married, Jessie.”
“So then, that rules out Matthew Stone and Jackson Dibble?”
Candy wrinkled her nose.
“What about Bryce?”
She shook her head vigorously.
“Evan McCloy?”
“I never dated Evan, either.” She blinked a few times. “Evan was there, though.”
“There, where?”
“When I met Stanley. We met at The Stone Fountain. Did you know that?”
I did not, so Candy filled me in on the first time she ever saw Stanley. Apparently, it had been love—or at least lust—at first sight.
“Who else was there that night?” I asked.
“Lots of people, I guess. Bryce, of course. And Karen.” She scowled at me. “Is this important?”
I told her I had no idea and apologized for being so nosey.
“Does it look bad, Jessie? That I was with all those guys?”
“You’re young,” I said with a shrug. “It’s probably good to play the field. And you were smart to break it off with Stanley.”
“Really?”
“Trust me, Sweetie. You don’t want to get married unless you’re absolutely, one hundred percent sure.”
“But breaking up like that still looks bad, huh? Since Stanley got killed and all?”
Well, let’s see. Candy knew about Stanley’s will, knew about the twenty-seven thousand dollars, had found herself a new boyfriend, and had broken up with Stanley on the night he was murdered. Yes, I had to agree, it did look bad.
“But it looks worse that you’re not telling the cops what happened,” I said. “Promise me you’ll call Rye?”
“Would you do it for me, Jessie? He really likes you.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Sweetie, but you need to do this yourself. You know that.”
She took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll call him tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll have all day, since I guess I’m not going to the funeral.”
“Why’s that?”
“Stanley’s mother says I’m not invited.”
“Excuse me?”
Candy actually hung her head. “I called to see if I could do anything to help, and that’s what she said.”
“Candy! No one gets invited to a funeral. More importantly, no one gets turned away.”
“Really?”
“You’re going,” I insisted. “Better yet, we’re going.”
“But Mrs. Sweetzer will be furious.”
“That’s just tough.” I saw the horror stricken look on my friend’s face. “Come on, Sweetie. Stanley loved you, correct?” She agreed. “And you loved Stanley? At least at one time?”
She agreed with that also.
“Well then, you need to be there. Stanley would want you there.”
“You’re right, Jessie.” Candy offered a determined nod. “Stanley would want me there.”
About then, I remembered Jimmy Beak. But this was no time for cowardice, especially since Candy Poppe was looking downright courageous.
Chapter 11
Stanley may have wanted Candy at his funeral, but I doubt even her former fiancé would have been thrilled with her outfit for the occasion. She had called after lunch the next day to say she was running late and would meet me at my car. But little did I suspect what she would meet me in.
The best I could say for her outfit is that it was indeed black, right down to her fingernails. Maybe I should start with her hair. Already a deep brunette, Candy had decided that a rinse of Goth black was in order for the occasion. The result would have been alarming even without the black lace mini dress, and I do mean mini, the black fishnets, and the stilettos—black patent leather, but of course. Alarming about sums it up.
“Is this okay, Jessie?” she asked as she approached the car. “Black is the color you’re supposed to wear to funerals, right?”
I nodded meekly and climbed into the driver’s seat of my Porsche.
Candy scooted into the passenger seat. “But you’re not in black at all,” she said as she assessed my outfit.
It was true that I had chosen a blue pinstripe pant suit for the occasion, and had even ventured away from dark colors enough to tie a baby blue chiffon scarf around my hair. I explained that all black was no longer required, as long as one remembered the solemnity of the occasion and dressed accordingly.
“Gosh, Jessie.” She looked relieved. “I’m glad you noticed.”
***
I entered the church with much trepidation. First of all, there was Candy’s show-stopping outfit to consider. And even if that didn’t produce pandemonium, Jimmy Beak might. Somehow I doubted that the solemnity of the occasion would mean much to the Channel 15 News team.
But luckily the church was crowded, and Jimmy was nowhere in sight. I scanned the sanctuary a second time to make sure of that happy fact and said a little prayer for the speedy recovery of our school superintendant. Rather contradictory, I said another prayer of thanks for the elementary school desk debacle, hoping it would continue to distract Jimmy for a long, long, time.
We sat near the back and were singing the first hymn when Rye and
Densmore arrived. They approached our pew, but I gave Rye a look that would ward off a pack of wolves and the two of them backed away.
I leaned toward Candy. “Did you call him this morning?”
She whispered that she had. “But let’s not talk about it right now, okay? I’m kind of nervous as it is.”
Candy made it through the church service with only a few tears, and no one even noticed as I eased my car into the procession to the nearby cemetery. Indeed, things were going so smoothly that I imagined we might survive the day without incident. But as we left the car and were walking toward the gravesite someone shouted Candy’s name.
She whimpered and reached for my hand. “It’s Stanley’s father, Jessie. Brace yourself.”
“Candy!” he called again from across the expanse of lawn and gravestones. If only he had managed to keep his big mouth shut. But after observing Roger Sweetzer for about ten seconds, I concluded he likely had never managed to keep his big mouth shut.
“It is Candy, isn’t it?” he bellowed as he got nearer. “Margaret! Come see Candy!” He gave Candy more than a future father-in-law type hug. “I’m glad you decided to come. I didn’t see you at the church.” More bellowing as he waved a finger at her. “Where were you hiding?”
For the father of the deceased, Mr. Sweetzer certainly seemed cheerful. I got the feeling his wife Margaret was less so. And she was less than inclined to come see Candy. She did, however, want to shut up her stupid husband, and as she tiptoed her way over, Candy whimpered again.
“Oh, yes, Rog.” Margaret drew closer. “It is Candy, isn’t it?” She smiled and I wondered if the woman made a habit of sharpening her teeth. “And what an exceptional outfit, Candy.” She bared her teeth in my direction. “Did your mother help you coordinate it?”
Perhaps that was meant as an insult, but I smiled pleasantly. Maybe I wasn’t the only person in Clarence who had yet to see Jimmy Beak’s reports.
“I’m Jessica Hewitt, Mrs. Sweetzer.” I held out my hand. “Candy’s neighbor. I’m so sorry about your son.”
Margaret ignored my hand to take off her glasses and get in my face. “Candy’s neighbor?”
I maintained my most neutral expression as I watched her mind race. And then it dawned on her.
“Oh my God!” Margaret Sweetzer shrieked just as well as Roger Sweetzer bellowed. “Get this woman out of here, Roger. She’s the one who killed our Stanley!”
Candy wobbled noticeably, and I must admit, I was also feeling a bit shaky when Captain Rye appeared at my side. He spoke in a quiet but firm voice and asked the Sweetzers not to get too upset. “Ms. Hewitt’s been very cooperative during our investigation,” he told them.
Excuse me?
I was mouthing a ‘Gee, thanks’ to Rye when I spotted my ex, and even worse, my ex’s new wife, making their way over to our little gathering. I blinked twice, hoping to dispel the hideous specter.
No such luck. Clarence is a small city, and running into Ian on occasion was a hazard I resigned myself to after our divorce. But I had never bargained on seeing him—or God forbid—Amanda, at quite such an awkward moment.
“Could this day get any worse?” I mumbled under my breath.
“Gosh, I hope not,” Candy whispered back.
“My ex-husband is here,” I explained and turned to Rye. “I assume you’ve met Ian?”
He nodded, and I concluded that, yes, the day could get worse.
Ian was calling out in a voice loud enough to raise the dead at our feet. “Don’t worry about it, Rog. Amanda and I will take care of it.” He waved a hand in my direction so that everyone would know I was the ‘it’ to which he was referring.
Margaret and Roger Sweetzer wandered off toward the gravesite, and while I searched desperately for a large tombstone behind which I might seek refuge, Ian and Amanda exchanged pleasantries with Rye.
My ex-husband turned to me and there the pleasantries ended. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”
I smiled slowly. “You like it, Ian.” That wasn’t a question, it was a statement. And trust me, he did. I hadn’t been married to this fool for close to twenty years for nothing.
Amanda spoke next, coming up close to me, just as Margaret had, and straining her neck to inspect my roots. “Oh my, it is rather extreme, isn’t it?”
She smiled, and I decided Amanda must use the same tooth-sharpening tools as Margaret.
“I’ve been telling Ian all week that picture of you Jimmy Beak keeps showing can’t possibly be recent,” she said. “You look much younger in that picture. Did you know that, Jessica?”
Rye cleared his throat and took three giant steps backward while Candy quietly reminded me about the grey haired photo of yours truly that Jimmy Beak had been using.
I spoke to my ex over the top of Amanda’s head. “What are you doing here?”
Amanda answered, trying to look me in the eye. “Oh my,” she said. “The Sweetzers and my family go way back, don’t you know? Margaret and I practically grew up together. She used to babysit me every Saturday night.” Amanda tapped her husband’s chest. “And Ian here has taken up playing cards with Roger and his cronies. Can you imagine such a thing, Jessica?”
I assured her I no longer wasted my time imagining what Ian does and turned to Candy.
“Ian and Amanda Crawcheck, this is my good friend, Candice Poppe.” I used my gentlest voice. Anyone listening might even think I was mature and polite. “Candy was Stanley’s girlfriend,” I explained helpfully.
Amanda stared at the fishnets, and I must admit, I really couldn’t blame her. “Girlfriend?” she said. “I wasn’t aware Stanley had a serious girlfriend?”
She looked Candy up and down before bursting out. “Oh, I know, Ian! This is the bra girl.” She faced Candy again. “Am I right? You’re the bra girl from Tate’s?”
I already had my arm around Candy’s back, so I was able to tug on her hair without anyone noticing. With a little help from my puppeteering, Candy held her head up.
“Oh, yes, Amanda.” I mocked her tone but not her volume. “Everyone in town knows Candy. At least all the women. She is so good at her job, isn’t she though?”
I looked straight at Ian, who, I am here to tell you, had not taken his eyes off me. “Why, even today I’m wearing some nice things Candy found for me.” His mouth dropped open. “Royal blue,” I added with a flutter of eyelashes.
Bless her heart, Candy caught on to the game. “Jessie has such an amazing figure, don’t you think?” She glanced back and forth between Ian and Amanda. “She looks wonderful in everything I offer her.”
A lie if ever there was one, but I was not inclined to stay and argue. I grabbed Candy’s hand and headed toward the gravesite.
As we stepped away from Ian, I caught a glimpse of Rye lurking behind a large tree. I kept moving and called back over my shoulder, “That’s right, Captain—royal blue, yet again.”
“Again?” Ian squeaked.
***
Lucky me. After the committal service, Candy insisted on attending the reception. I would have skipped it altogether, but I had promised her my support. I braced myself and drove to the Clarence Country Club.
At least the place was crowded, and I entered the ballroom with high hopes of avoiding another embarrassing encounter with my ex. Or the Sweetzers. Or Jimmy Beak, for that matter. Oh well. If all else failed, I noticed a nice roomy buffet table. I could hide under there if all hell broke loose.
Evan McCloy saw us, or perhaps I should say he saw Candy, and rushed over. With barely a frown in my direction, he whisked her off to join a group of stressed out looking financial types, who I assumed were Stanley’s co-workers.
The spot beneath the buffet table did seem inviting, but I decided to risk it, and instead found an inconspicuous corner from which to people watch. I was assessing each individual who passed by for murderer possibilities when Rye joined me.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I asked.
He h
anded me a glass of red wine. “You looked like you could use this. Sorry, but there’s no champagne.”
I mumbled a ‘thank you’ and noticed he himself was drinking nothing. I also noticed he was staring at me in that disconcerting, cop-like way.
“What is it this time?” I had to ask. “What lies has Ian been telling you?”
“It wasn’t Ian.”
“Amanda, then.”
Rye shook his head. “I’m thinking it’s you who’s still lying.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve been telling everyone and his brother you invested with Sweetzer.”
“Oh, shit!”
“Yep, Ms. Hewitt. That about sums it up.”
I grimaced. “Someone at The Stone Fountain tattled on me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I asked who, but of course he wouldn’t divulge his source. And as I thought about it, it could have been anyone. I had indeed announced that stupid lie to everyone and his brother.
“I was just trying to get people to open up to me,” I said in my defense. “It would be very helpful to know who Stanley’s clients were.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I took a deep breath and then repeated the question I had asked Rye who knows how many times before. “You still believe me, don’t you? That I didn’t invest with Stanley?”
He waited a solid minute before answering. “I still believe you,” he finally mumbled. “But I doubt Jimmy Beak will.”
“Oh, shit!”
“That about sums it up.”
I whimpered. “You’re thinking someone at the bar actually believed my lies? And they’ll tell Jimmy?”
“Yep.”
“And Jimmy will tell the world.” I whimpered some more, but Rye offered no sympathy whatsoever. Instead, he muttered something about how simple and serene his job as a homicide detective used to be—back in the good old days before he met me.
I interrupted his trip down memory lane and tilted my head toward the crowded room. “Aren’t you worried about being seen with me?” I asked. “You know, consorting with the enemy and all that?”
Rye grinned. “They probably think I’m making an arrest.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“That’s some fancy car you drive, lady. A silver Porsche?”
My car? I asked if he were referring to my ten-year-old Carrera with 140,000 miles on it. “Do you mean that fancy car?”
Playing with Poison: A Humorous and Romantic Cozy (Cue Ball Mysteries Book 1) Page 9