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

by Cindy Blackburn

  I folded my arms and glared. “I really can make it all the way up to the third floor by myself, you know?”

  “We’ve been through this before.” He opened the stairwell door and waved me forward.

  I resigned myself to the inevitable and followed him up the stairs, but he stopped and turned on the second floor landing.

  “What the hell do you have in this thing?” He pointed to the bag he was carrying.

  “Rocks,” I said honestly.

  Rye blinked twice. “You’re a little scary, you know that?”

  I didn’t argue, he hoisted the bag onto his other shoulder, and kept climbing.

  We made it to my doorway, but the man still wasn’t in the mood to leave and insisted we needed to talk. “We’ve got a problem,” he informed me.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I unlocked my door. “I am tired, Captain. I’ve had an extremely busy day.”

  “I’m sure you have. May I come in?”

  I thought about it. “Upstairs,” I said. I called to Snowflake, told Rye to leave the crystals in my doorway, and led the two of them toward the roof.

  “At least if we sit up here, you won’t expect me to serve you tea,” I said over my shoulder.

  He told me there was no need to be testy.

  “Yeah, right,” I responded testily.

  ***

  We sat down, and Rye was once again enamored with the garden. I, however, refused to let the pleasant breezes and almost-full moon dissuade me from my bad mood. I interrupted a question about watering the daisies and demanded some answers.

  “Why hasn’t Jimmy Beak been informed of Candy’s arrest?” I began. “Aren’t you required to keep the media posted on these things?”

  “Beak knows. We briefed the media this afternoon.”

  “What? Then why hasn’t he reported it?”

  Rye raised an eyebrow. “You’re really not that naïve, are you? The public doesn’t always have the right to know, Ms. Hewitt. Not if the facts aren’t likely to boost Beak’s ratings.”

  I folded my arms and glared. “Are you telling me Jimmy’s sitting on Candy’s arrest because it makes for better ratings if I’m the killer?”

  “Yep, that’s what I’m telling you. And remember his fixation with Dee Dee Larkin? If you’re not the killer, there goes that supposed partnership. Beak’s been trying to go national for years.”

  I mumbled a four-letter word, but Rye told me not to worry.

  “Larkin didn’t even mention you in tonight’s broadcast, whatever Beak was hoping,” he said. “And you’ll be off the hook around here by tomorrow. The Courier will run an article on Poppe and O’Connell in the morning paper—front page, most likely. After that, Beak will be forced to tell his adoring public what’s really going on. Which is exactly what I want.”

  I myself was a bit confused about what exactly I wanted. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Jimmy latching on to Candy’s arrest, but his continued harassment of yours truly wasn’t all that appealing either.

  “Beak could end up helping your friend’s cause.” Rye interrupted my thoughts. “That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”

  “How in the world can Jimmy Beak help Candy?”

  Rye studied me, the baby blues more intense than ever.

  “What?” I asked impatiently.

  “I’m trying to decide how much I should trust you.”

  “I’m a trustworthy person,” I said.

  “Maybe. But you’re angry with me as it is, and you’re really not going to like what I’m about to tell you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I do know how to control my temper, you know?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What is it, before I decide to kill you, Captain?”

  “We have every reason to assume your friend is guilty—”

  I jumped up and reminded Rye of my terrible temper.

  He glanced up. “You want to hear this, or not?”

  I sat back down.

  “As I was saying,” he continued, “we have a good amount of evidence against Poppe and O’Connell, and I’ve officially closed the case.”

  I sat on my hands so as not to slug him.

  “But I’m still looking into things. Unofficially.” Again the intense stare. “You get it?”

  I did not.

  “Well then, I’ll explain,” he said. “I’m still not completely satisfied that something didn’t happen in that bar on Saturday.” He pointed down toward The Stone Fountain. “Which is why I still insist you stay clear of the place. Stop stirring things up, until we’re sure.”

  There, you see? I knew I had a right to be testy.

  “Are you actually telling me,” I hissed, “you have Candy in jail, and you’re not absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure she’s guilty?”

  “I’m ninety percent certain she is guilty.” Rye remained his incredibly aggravating, calm self. “But I’m also keeping an open mind, and I’m still investigating some other possibilities. Unofficially.”

  “And I’m supposed to sit here and let you take your sweet time about it? While Candy rots in jail?”

  He shook his head. “Ms. Poppe is not about to rot in jail, okay? She’ll be out tomorrow morning. I had to call in a few dozen favors, but I convinced the DA not to fight too hard at the bond hearing.”

  “And her friend Carter? What about him?”

  “He stays in jail. Don’t even try to argue with me about that.”

  “And you think I’m the scary one? You’re impossible, do you know that?”

  “Listen to me carefully,” he said and waited until I did so. “Once Ms. Poppe is released tomorrow, you have got to let her think—let everyone think—I’m finished with the investigation. If Poppe and O’Connell aren’t the culprits, then the real murderer is still on the loose. If they think I’m done looking, they may get complacent. You get it now?”

  I did. “That’s where Jimmy Beak comes in, correct? He’ll report the news on Candy and Carter, and the killer will think he’s gotten away with it?”

  “He or she.”

  “And then maybe he’ll do something stupid to tip us off,” I concluded.

  “Us?”

  I watched Snowflake chase a moth and considered Rye’s plan.

  “If you really think Carter’s innocent, it’s wrong of you to hold him in jail. There are laws about that.” I tried to remember which of Carter O’Connell’s civil rights Rye was violating.

  “Can you trust me on this?” he asked. “Just this once?”

  I was mumbling a reluctant agreement when he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. I cringed as he unfolded the picture of Amanda and held it up for me.

  “Now then, you want to explain this?”

  I studied the photograph as if I had never seen it before. “Where did you get that?” I asked ever so innocently.

  “As if you didn’t know. Bryce Dixon was flashing it to everyone and his brother until I confiscated it.” Rye frowned at me. “Do you actually hate the new Mrs. Crawcheck so much you’re willing to accuse her of murder?”

  “I haven’t accused her. Yet.” I crossed my arms and glared. “But she did have a motive, you know? And since you’re still looking into the possibilities, you might just take a peek at dear Amanda.”

  “Already have.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Ms. Hewitt. I know all about your ex-husband’s poker games with the Sweetzers.”

  I bounced a bit. “I think that’s where Stanley got all the money you found. I’m thinking he won it from Ian, and then Amanda got mad. Don’t you see?”

  “It’s already been covered. First of all, those guys never played for anywhere near that kind of cash—”

  “That’s not what Ian told me,” I interrupted. “They played for high stakes.”

  Rye raised an eyebrow. “You two have been talking?”

  I raised an eyebrow back. “Trust me, it was not that fun.”

  We had
ourselves a little stare down before Rye broke the silence. “There’s high stakes, and there’s high stakes,” he said. “Those guys never played for anywhere near that kind of money. You’ll also be happy to know, I think, that the Crawchecks were out of town last weekend. They were in Savannah visiting her sister. Densmore’s verified it.”

  I watched as he crumbled up the picture and put it back in his pocket.

  “You have to admit it had possibilities,” I mumbled.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I thought about the other information I had garnered from my ex that afternoon. Did Rye really need to know all the details of those stupid poker games? And if so, did he really need to hear it from me?

  Snowflake hopped into his lap and meowed encouragement. Rye stroked under her chin and she purred accordingly.

  I took a deep breath and blurted it out, “I’ve figured out how Stanley knew so much about my finances.”

  “From Ian Crawcheck.”

  I jumped. “You knew about that? For how long?”

  “Since Densmore questioned him—right after we searched your place the other day.”

  “What? Why didn’t tell me?”

  Rye grinned. “By that point I was ninety percent certain you weren’t a murderer. Call me foolish, but I kind of wanted to keep it that way.”

  “Believe it or not, I haven’t fantasized about killing my ex for months.” I sat back and frowned. I might be the forgiving type, but if any of Ian’s other clients found out what he’d been doing, one of them might not be so understanding.

  “You don’t have to report him.” Apparently, Rye was reading my mind. “Densmore and I will take care of it.”

  “So,” I said slowly. “You know all about those poker games?” I emphasized the all.

  “I know enough. It isn’t my area of expertise, but your ex-husband’s arrangement with Sweetzer will be investigated. Divulging confidential financial figures like he did constitutes fraud.”

  “Ian insists Stanley practically forced him into it.”

  Rye nodded. “Sweetzer was good at getting what he wanted out of people. He knew lots of secrets, but that doesn’t let your ex-husband off the hook.”

  Oh, Ian. I held my face in my hands and shuddered.

  “He used to be a good guy,” I said eventually. “Once upon a time he had standards.”

  Rye waited until I glanced up. “I can see that,” he said.

  ***

  Snowflake yowled for no good reason and jumped from Rye’s lap onto Karen’s safety railing. She sat staring at us, her white coat shimmering in the moonlight.

  “I hate it when she does that,” I said. “She knows it makes me nervous.”

  “Cats like heights.” Rye tapped my knee with his fist. “So, we have a deal, right? You’ll keep your mouth shut and trust me, and I’ll keep looking into the murder. Deal?”

  “I hate this,” I agreed. “But I’m still going to The Stone Fountain. It would actually look more suspicious if I stopped hanging out in there.”

  “Well, at least stop it with the sleuthing. And don’t be over there alone, or late at night.”

  Speaking of late at night—I leaned back and closed my eyes to better enjoy the breeze.

  “Tell me about your mother,” he said the moment I got comfortable. “What did she do?”

  My mother? I kept my eyes closed and told him I was sick of discussing my private life. “Let’s talk about you for a change, shall we?” I sat up and pointed to Snowflake. “You must have a cat, for instance?”

  “Two of them. Wally’s jet black, the exact opposite of yours. And Bernice is the fattest calico on Planet Earth.”

  I smiled. “And parents?” I asked. “Do you have any of those?”

  “Two of them.”

  “What do they do?”

  “They’re retired. My mother was a dispatcher with the force in Raleigh.”

  “The police force? Like the woman who answered my 911 call the other night?”

  “Yep. And my father was a cop.”

  “Children?” I asked. “Do you have any of those, Captain Rye?”

  “You’re very nosey, you know that?”

  “I’ve been taking lessons.”

  He held up an index finger. “I have one of those. My son Chris is a sophomore at UNC, Chapel Hill. What about you?” he asked. “No kids, right?”

  I shook my head and swallowed a sigh. “So, where exactly do you live?” I changed the subject. “Not downtown?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You plan on paying me a visit, Ms. Hewitt?”

  I told him not to flatter himself and waited until he informed me he has a place out on Lake Lookadoo. “Below Belvidere Mountain,” he said. “You know the area?”

  I tilted my head toward the mountains in the distance, outlined under that spectacular moon. “You live in the boondocks.”

  “Yep.” Rye stood up. “And I think I’m done answering questions.”

  “One more.” I pulled him back down. “Where did you learn to shoot pool? You’re very good, you know?”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “My commanding officer in the Air Force taught me.”

  Again he got up to leave, and we walked downstairs.

  “You still haven’t told me about your mother,” Rye said as we made it to my door. “What did she do?”

  “She was a bank teller.” Snowflake and I walked inside. “Daddy used to joke that they both liked the feel of cold hard cash between their fingertips.”

  “And you ended up a writer?”

  “Mother read a lot. Daddy was away most nights, so she read romances to while away the time. She still does.”

  “She’s still alive then?”

  “Yes, Captain. And her name is Mother.”

  I picked up my sack of rocks and shut the door.

  ***

  I erased a message from Louise Urko without bothering to listen and called Karen.

  “Good Lord, Jess. Did he finally leave?”

  “Finally. And if I’m expected to stay awake any longer, I must have chocolate.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Five minutes later, Karen was at my door armed with a package of Hershey’s Kisses, and the tea kettle was whistling on my stove.

  “Should I even ask what you and Rye were doing all that time?” She gave me a Candy-like look and took a seat at the counter.

  I turned away to find the tea cups. “We were talking about the murder.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “The three of us were up in the garden. Ask Snowflake if you don’t believe me.”

  “And?”

  “And I wish that she would stay away from the edge. She especially loves to torment me by sitting on your railing.”

  “It’ll hold her.” Karen bent down to acknowledge Snowflake. “But what about the murder, Jess? What did Rye say about Kiddo?”

  Nothing I’m allowed to share, I thought to myself. I avoided the question and worked on pouring the tea.

  “I’m more interested in what you learned from Evan,” I said. I walked our cups over to the coffee table. “It looked like you guys were having a real heart to heart.”

  “He’s looking to put a gazebo in his backyard.” Karen followed me to the easy chairs, candy in hand. “When Bryce told him I build stuff, he got interested.”

  “Oh?”

  “So I lied. I quoted him a ridiculously low price and promised I’d be able to get it done within the month. Then I got down to business and asked about Stanley.”

  “But that’s fantastic, Karen. What did he say?”

  “We talked about the company they work for—Something Or Other Dent. And then I asked how business was, and Evan got kind of nervous. So I kidded him a little about whether he could afford this gazebo he has planned.”

  “Believe it or not, I really don’t care about that gazebo.”

  “Hey, it kept the gu
y talking.”

  “Good point,” I agreed and unwrapped a Kiss.

  Karen continued, “It sounds like the office politics at Something Dent are from hell.” She shook her head. “Man, I don’t miss that.”

  “Don’t tell me you ever worked in an office?”

  “For ten years. I was a bookkeeper at Mountain Top Real Estate.”

  I scowled. “I can’t quite picture you at a job that doesn’t require a tool belt.”

  “Try picturing me at a job that required pantyhose.”

  I glanced at her work boots.

  “Like, every day,” she said. “I hated it.”

  “And Stanley’s office?”

  “Get this.” She sat up and Snowflake jumped from her lap to mine. “Stanley got a promotion to senior something or other right before he died. According to Evan, there were lots of people in the company who weren’t too happy about it.”

  “Jealousy,” I said, remembering Audrey and Ezekiel.

  “I guess maybe. Stanley was a lot younger and hadn’t been there as long as some of the others. Evan says there was a lot of back stabbing going on.”

  “Any names? Anyone I should pay particular attention to?”

  “Huh?”

  “I met a few of Stanley’s colleagues at the funeral,” I explained. “Lord help me, I even told a woman, Vikki, that I need some advice on my investments. You know, now that Stanley’s gone?”

  Karen’s eyes got wide. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going down there?”

  Yes, I suppose I actually was. Snowflake gave me a disapproving look, and I remembered my promise to Rye to stop sleuthing. But that was only at The Stone Fountain, correct?

  “I’ll just poke around and see what I can learn.” I tried sounding confident.

  “Man, I wouldn’t have a clue how to snoop around like that.”

  Neither did I. But surely I would think of something.

  “Any insight from Audrey’s astrologer?” Karen asked as she went for another Kiss.

  “Jealousy,” I said. “Ezekiel the Astrologer says someone was jealous of Stanley. But, alas, he didn’t have Stanley’s time of birth, so he couldn’t be more specific.”

  “Jealousy,” Karen repeated after swallowing. “At least we’ve got ourselves a theme.”

  Chapter 18

  “Are you awake?”