“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.
“Getting this whole ridiculous saga on national TV was Louise’s idea,” I told my ex. “And you are right about one thing—she was after the publicity. The poor woman thinks of sales figures and loses all perspective.”
“Geez Louise Urko.” Ian groaned at the memory. “You should fire her, Jessie.”
“Yeah, right.”
We were actually sharing a slight chuckle when Amanda returned to the fray. This time she was shrieking something about the ‘trash’ I write.
“You might remind your new wife this trash she’s so concerned with paid for that lovely house she’s redecorating.”
“How the hell do you know we’re redecorating?”
“I’m a writer,” I said. “I know these things.”
“I’m warning you, Jessie. Get all this garbage straightened out, or else.”
“Or else what? You’ll cheat on me with that flagrant fool and then try to screw me in the divorce settlement?”
I waited while Ian huffed and puffed and found a way to change the subject.
“How’s Snowflake doing?” he asked eventually.
I told him Snowflake was managing quite well and hung up in search of more champagne.
Lord knows I needed it, since Jimmy Beak had returned. He was banging on my door and shouting something about Stanley, Boykin and Dent Investment Services, and my bank account.
Presumably, he was speaking to the camera as he elaborated, “Jessica Hewitt now admits she invested her entire life’s savings with Stanley Sweetzer. Every last penny! My confidential sources have verified it!
“Dee Dee Larkin, the nationally acclaimed investigative reporter, and I are collaborating,” Jimmy proclaimed triumphantly. “Together, we plan to unveil the exact amount Jessica Hewitt entrusted to Mr. Sweetzer before his untimely demise right behind this very door!”
Banging on the very door.
“Dee Dee Larkin and I are working around the clock to prove Jessica Hewitt’s guilt. Mark my words, Stanley Sweetzer’s disgruntled client and elderly lover will not get away with murder! The public has a right to know. No!” he shouted. “The nation has a right to know!”
Elderly?
Snowflake and I stared at each other in dismay. “It’s time for a sex scene,” I told her.
“Sex scene!” That was Jimmy. “Who do you have in there now, lady!?”
***
It had grown dark while I was dealing with Jimmy, and my mood wasn’t all that bright, either. But writing a sex scene always cheers me up. I switched from champagne to tea and sat down at my desk to write the climactic, and I do mean climactic, love scene between Rolfe and Alexis.
I can’t say what so inspired me to new creative heights, and the lovers to new creative positions. But if the whole, wide, reading world was expecting borderline pornography from Adelé Nightingale, she was not about to disappoint them. I was thinking of another word for nibbling when someone else knocked.
“Grand Central Station,” I mumbled and called toward the door, “Is that you, Sweetie?”
“It’s Karen, Jess. I brought M & M’s.”
I scurried to let her in, and bless her heart, she had the cellophane package opened by the time she sat down at the counter.
“Sorry it took me so long to get these up here.” She held out the package and poured a few Peanut M & M’s into my outstretched palm. “Jimmy scared me away, and then I got busy with my electric sander.”
I found a bowl for the candy and started the tea kettle while we discussed Jimmy Beak’s latest foray into our building.
“I can’t believe he came back so soon,” she said. “Considering what’s going on with the school board? The guy must work twenty-four—seven.”
I poured some milk into Karen’s teacup while she updated me on the elementary school desk debacle. It seems Superintendent Yates had been released from the hospital that morning and had decided to press charges against the people who had injured her.
“Jimmy barely even mentioned you tonight,” Karen said. “He was too busy interviewing the entire school board, claiming the public has the right to know what every eyewitness saw. All the school principals weighed in on the issue, too. It started off as a panel discussion, but then the fists started flying.” Karen shook her head. “It was mayhem, even before Jimmy started bopping everyone with his microphone.”
“That explains his absence at the funeral,” I said. “But clearly the Dee Dee Larkin thing got him all riled up again. I’d bet money he’s hoping for a job with her. National TV and all that.”
Karen studied me while I poured our tea and found the seat next to her.
“What?” I asked.
“Dee Dee said you invested with Stanley. I thought you said you didn’t do that, Jess?”
“I didn’t. But I have a hunch his job had something to do with the murder, so I’ve been lying to all and sundry about my supposed investments. You know, to get people talking?”
She raised an eyebrow, and I admitted to the sheer stupidity of my plan.
“What was I thinking?” I groaned. “Anyone who was at The Stone Fountain last night must have heard me spouting off. Which means anyone could have forwarded my lies to Jimmy. And then Jimmy told Dee Dee.”
“And Dee Dee told the world.”
I thanked Karen for reminding me and ate a yellow M & M.
“Oh well,” I said with a shrug. “At least Captain Rye understands the truth.”
Karen raised her other eyebrow, and I decided to move on. I described my harrowing day, starting with the funeral service and ending with a minor tirade against my ex.
“I still can’t believe he and Amanda were at the service,” I said.
“Who’s Amanda?”
“Ian’s new wife—the wannabe socialite.”
“In Clarence, North Carolina?” Karen was incredulous.
“Insane, but that’s Amanda for you.” I imitated her society voice. “Seems she and Stanley’s mother are simply the best of friends, don’t you know. Why, Ian even plays cards with Stanley’s father nowadays. Can you imagine such a thing?”
I sat up straight and hissed a four-letter word.
“What’s up, Jess?”
Ian played cards with Roger Sweetzer. And according to Candy, Stanley played poker with his father every Thursday night. Which meant that Ian had played cards with Stanley? Which meant that—oh, my Lord—it meant all kinds of things. Not the least of which, I now knew how Stanley had learned the details of my net worth.
“Jess?” Karen asked. “Are you alright?”
“No,” I said honestly.
“Do you need an Advil? I can go get the bottle?”
Dear Karen. I told her I must be tired. She took the hint and left soon afterwards.
I began some vigorous pacing, found the phone, and started dialing Ian. But then I changed my mind. Why subject myself to the Crawchecks three times in one day? And besides, Ian deserved nothing less than a face to face confrontation over this one. I would watch him try to squirm his way out of it, and then I would—I stopped short and looked down at Snowflake.
“What will I do to Ian?” I asked her.
She didn’t offer any suggestions, but she did follow me as I paced over to the window. And that’s when I noticed Captain Rye emerging from The Stone Fountain.
I stopped short again and turned off the desk lamp to get rid of the glare.
He and Lieutenant Densmore stood at the curb talking for a while before Densmore climbed into a nearby car and drove off. But Rye stuck around, apparently fascinated by the traffic at the corner of Sullivan and Vine. He looked up and caught me staring. I jumped back, but not before I noticed the grin.
I glanced down at the receiver still in my hand. It was time to call my mothe
r.
***
“Of course I saw Dee Dee Larkin’s report,” Mother answered my first question. “I would have called you, Honeybunch, but I’ve been on the phone all evening. Everyone’s been asking after you.”
I may have whimpered slightly.
“I am sorry about that poor young man,” she continued. “He was a good friend of yours?”
“Mother! Please tell me you didn’t believe everything Dee Dee said. Yes, I knew the guy, but I did not have an affair with him, and I did not invest with him. And I most certainly did not murder him!”
“Oh, Jessie. You know I know that already. But isn’t that agent of yours a clever girl? Clever, clever, clever.”
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength while my mother sang Geez Louise’s praises. Clearly, she had figured out how Adelé Nightingale’s plight had ended up on national TV. I doubt she was dancing on her desk, but Mother was spouting off words like blockbuster and bestseller when I interrupted to ask the obvious. “You think this is good publicity?”
“Don’t you? All my friends are so excited! They can’t wait to see that new book of yours when it finally comes out. Vivian Mims says she’s going shopping first thing tomorrow to buy all your old ones, too!”
Vivian Mims is a resident at the same retirement home outside of Columbia, South Carolina, where Mother moved after Daddy died. She and my mother are becoming fast friends.
“I promised Vivian you’d autograph them the next time you visit,” Mother was saying. “You’ll do that for me?”
I promised to pack an extra pen for that express purpose. “I take it Mrs. Mims isn’t concerned about the borderline-pornography thing?”
Mother giggled. “Oh, Honeybunch. You write historical romances, remember? You can’t help it if you’re just better at it than everyone else.”
I rolled my eyes, but chose not to argue.
“Have you spoken to Danny?” I asked. I was fairly certain my brother and his wife Capers would not be quite so enthusiastic about Dee Dee Larkin’s report.
“Well now, Capers is a bit upset,” Mother admitted. “But you know how she is. She worries about what other people think far too much.”
“Mm-hmm.” I wandered back to the window and noticed Rye had left.
“What else?” Mother asked. “Something else is bothering you, Jessie.”
“Well,” I began. “You know Ian?”
“My only daughter was married to the man for twenty years. Now then, what about Ian? Is that silly wife of his causing you trouble again?”
I told her it wasn’t Amanda who was bothering me this time. And after getting her to promise to keep Mrs. Mims and the rest of her friends in the dark, I explained all I knew about Stanley Sweetzer’s murder, the ensuing investigation, and my own involvement in the whole unpleasant mess. This took a while, but Mother is a night owl and was in no hurry.
“But what does any of this have to do with Ian?” she asked as I finished the saga.
“I’m ninety percent sure Ian’s the one who told Stanley about my finances. They played cards together.”
“Oh dear.”
“Exactly. But that’s not all. Captain Rye found twenty-seven thousand dollars in Stanley’s house the night he died.”
“He must have gambled.”
“Exactly! At those poker games with Ian.”
“Ian?” Mother sounded skeptical. “What are you saying, Jessie?”
“I’m saying Stanley could have won that money from Ian.”
“From Ian Crawcheck? Oh no, Honeybunch. I can’t imagine that.”
I slumped. “You don’t think Ian would gamble like that.”
“Not with his own money. No, no, no.”
On further reflection, I had to agree with my mother the wise-woman. Having been married to a professional gambler for close to sixty years, she has a sixth sense about these things. I trust her instincts almost as much as my father did.
“But enough about silly Ian,” Mother was saying. “Let’s talk about this Captain Rye of yours instead, Jessie. He sounds just darling!”
Chapter 14
Alexis Wynsome should never have been left unattended, not even for a moment. The following morning, while Rolfe Vanderhorn was distracted sharpening his sword, dear, sweet Alexis got herself kidnapped, yet again. The evil Maynard Snipe’s even eviler step brother Derwin had carried her away when she ventured out of Rolfe’s cottage to pick daisies. An unlikely plot twist, but there you have it.
At least the woman had sense enough to scream when the dastardly Derwin swept her onto his horse and galloped away. Rolfe looked up from his task just in time to identify the man who was stealing his lady love away this time.
What to do, what to do? Another man, one with less fortitude and far less libido, might have given up on the hapless Alexis. But Rolfe’s memories of the previous night, of Alexis’s trembling bosom, of her soft, fluttery lips, her tender caresses, and her trembling bosom, inspired our hero to action once again.
His challenge was daunting, indeed. For the older Snipe brother was a lot smarter than Maynard. Derwin rode a faster steed, lived in a better fortified castle, and actually knew which end of his sword to brandish in a duel.
Rolfe sighed in despair. He would need to think long and hard about how to tackle this latest crisis.
Thoughts of the dastardly Ian Crawcheck distracted me from Rolfe’s latest quandary. I was closing my computer and planning a surprise visit to my ex when Candy called to inform me she was at the police station.
“The police station! For Lord’s sake, what happened?”
“They arrested me, Jessie. Captain Rye says Carter and me killed Stanley.”
The word I screamed into the phone didn’t exactly relieve Candy’s hysteria, but I recovered quickly and asked what had happened in only a mildly curious tone. Calm and serene—that’s me.
Bless her heart, Candy also made an effort at inner fortitude, and managed to describe the basics of what had transpired since she last saw me. She had gone straight to bed after the funeral and had slept through the night. Supposedly, she did not even hear Jimmy Beak and his cameraman traipsing up and down the stairs, pounding on my door, etcetera.
“I felt a lot better this morning,” she said. “But then Captain Rye showed up.”
Her explanation got a bit muddled at that point, but apparently Rye and Densmore had hauled her off to the police station at about the same time Derwin Snipe absconded with Alexis Wynsome.
“They arrested Carter, too, Jessie. I think I forgot to mention he spent the night with me?”
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.
“They said I could only make one phone call, just like on TV. I hope it’s okay I called you?”
I assured Candy she had made a good choice. “I’ll contact Rye and see what I can do. And I know a lot of good lawyers,” I lied. “If I have anything to say about this, you won’t be spending the night in jail. Ever.”
“Oh, Jessie. I knew you’d know what to do.”
“What about your parents?” I asked. “Should I call them, too?”
“Nooooo! Oh, Jessie! My mother will kill me if she ever finds out about this. And if my father hears I’m back with Carter? Oh, my gosh. Please, oh please, don’t tell them!”
Okay, so I had no idea what that was about, but agreed not to contact the parents. Clearly, we had enough problems to deal with. Speaking of which, Jimmy Beak popped into my head. But I banished the thought and tried to convince myself and my neighbor that we would prove her innocence before the five o’clock news.
Yeah, right, I thought to myself, but Candy had faith in me. Indeed, she sounded almost confident by the time we hung up.
I, however, was more agitated than Rolfe Vanderhorn and Alexis Wynsome combined. With shaking hands, I rummaged around my desk until I found Rye’s business card.
“So much for calm and serene,” I told Snowflake.
***
“Rye here,” he offere
d as a greeting.
“Why?” I snapped. “Why on earth are you sitting at your desk? When you should be out searching for the real killer. Candy Poppe? Candy Poppe? Get a grip on reality, Captain!”
“Good morning, Ms Hewitt.”
“Good! What’s good about it? What’s going on?”
“We have your friend in custody—”
”No shit?”
He waited while I tried again. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m very upset right now. Do you understand?”
“Yep, I think I do.”
Snowflake jumped onto her windowsill to stay out of the way as I started pacing.
“Okay, so what possessed you to arrest Candy Poppe?” I asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business—”
“Any of my business?” I did an about face and paced faster. “The guy died on my couch! And Candy’s my friend. Of course it’s my business.”
“Well then, why don’t you be quiet and let me explain?”
I yanked the phone away from my ear and glared at it.
“Ms. Hewitt?”
I plopped myself into an easy chair. “I’m listening,” I muttered into the phone.
“O’Connell admits to being at Ms. Poppe’s apartment Saturday night.”
“What!?”
“Candy’s old boyfriend—Carter O’Connell. They’re back together again. I assume you know about this?”
I remained silent.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rye said. “They’re both claiming O’Connell was only over there waiting for her to get off work. She admits to giving him a key.”
Rye waited, but I still said nothing.
“It gets worse,” he warned.
“How exactly is that possible?”
“O’Connell admits to seeing Stanley Sweetzer just before the guy went up to your place to die. Seems old Stanley used his own key to let himself into Ms. Poppe’s apartment.”
I had to agree, at least silently, when Rye made some snide comment about Candy giving out the keys to her home a bit too readily. He then regaled me with yet another riveting dissertation about why we needed a lock on the front door of the building. When the phrase ‘everybody and his brother’ popped up, I suggested we get back to the murder thing.
Playing with Poison: A Humorous and Romantic Cozy (Cue Ball Mysteries Book 1) Page 11