“I know Leila. She works with my boyfriend.” Dorrie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. “What sort of information do you need? Are you working with Leila on a story?”
“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “I’m helping out with the investigation into Trowbridge Littleton’s death.”
“Oh, that was a real shock,” said Dorrie. “To his wife, too, I think.”
“I understand she was here the morning he died?”
Dorrie’s eyes squinched up as she thought. “She sure was. She gets here every morning at a quarter to five. Likes to ride the exercise bike before the early risers pile in. That particular day, she was scheduled for the five thirty AM Zumba class, but it was canceled, so she had to take the seven thirty one instead. I know, because I teach it.”
“You do?” Wow, judo and Zumba. No wonder she was in such great shape. “Do you remember anything unusual about Mrs. Littleton that day?”
Dorrie reached up to fiddle with the end of her ponytail. “As a matter of fact, I do. My friend Rolina is the masseuse here. She told me that when the class was canceled, Mrs. Littleton came in for a massage, but she hadn’t been on the table two minutes when she begged off, claiming that she had a bad stomachache. She said she was going to the bathroom. Rolina said that she’d looked pretty pale, so she went to check on her about ten minutes later—and Mrs. Littleton wasn’t in the bathroom.”
My heart skipped a beat. “She faked it?”
“Apparently.” Dorrie shook her head. “As it happened, I went for a walk out back. There’s a little garden right beside the running path, and I saw Mrs. Littleton on one of the benches. She was curled up, one leg tucked under her, yammering away on her cell phone. And—she looked pretty healthy to me. Looked pretty good when she got to class too.” She cut me an eye roll. “Rich people, huh?”
“Yeah, go figure. Do you recall what time it was you saw Mrs. Littleton on her phone?”
Dorrie’s lips scrunched up as she thought. “Around five thirty, I think. It could have been a few minutes later or earlier.” Someone called out to her and she slapped her forehead with her palm. “Oh, I forgot I’ve got a consult with a new customer. Nice meeting you. If you need anything else, just give me a holler.” She took off down the hall at a brisk canter.
I retraced my steps outside, my mind whirling with what I’d just learned. I was so focused that I didn’t see the man cross in front of me until it was too late. I bumped into him full tilt. “Oh, I’m so sor—” I began, and then the words died in my throat as recognition kicked in. “You!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Eighteen
Will Worthington towered over me, looking mighty fit in a gray short-sleeved sweat shirt that emphasized his muscled arms and black running shorts that showed off his toned legs. He carried a gym bag in one hand. “Hello yourself, Syd. I was just going for my workout.” His eyes narrowed and he gave me a quick once-over. “What are you doing here? Do you belong to the gym?”
I tore my gaze away from his physique and stammered, “Oh, heck no—but I guess you do?”
“I joined when I moved back.” He patted his stomach. “I find sticking to a workout regimen helps keep me in shape.” He set the bag down on the sidewalk and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, if you’re not a member, what are you doing here?”
“I—ah—was thinking of becoming a member,” I blurted. “I just came to check out some of their programs.”
“Bzzt. Wrong answer. Try again.”
I lowered my lashes and screwed my face into an exaggerated expression of innocence—or at least I hoped it looked that way. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“Frankly, no. You always hated working out.” His lips twitched upward. “Remember Scotto’s gym class? All the excuses you used to make up to get out of it?”
“They worked quite well in the beginning, until someone tipped him off.” I waggled my finger at him. “I still suspect you, you know.”
“Me? Nah. Would I do that?”
“Absolutely.”
His lips twitched slightly. “And I can always tell when you’re not telling the truth. You do a funny thing with your nose.”
My hand flew to my nose, and I rubbed at it. “What funny thing? I do not!”
“Yes, you do. Your eyes squinch up at the corners, and your nose wrinkles up.”
Will reached out, tucked two fingers underneath my chin, and raised it so that he could look into my eyes. “You forget I remember you telling me about all those Nancy Drew books you read as a kid. How Nancy was your idol. So . . . were you investigating?”
I dug the toe of my sneaker into the concrete walk. “Will you be mad if I say yes?”
“That depends. Did you find out anything?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I could barely contain my excitement. “I thought I’d check into Petra’s alibi . . .”
“Wait.” He held up a finger. “Not out here in the open. Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk. Have you had dinner yet? We could go to DuBarry’s.”
My stomach gave a loud rumble as he said the word dinner. I didn’t think cheese wedges and graham crackers counted. “It sounds good, but what about your workout?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I don’t think skipping one session will hurt.”
“In that case, okay, sure. I could go for a DuBarry burger and some sweet potato fries.”
Will patted at his stomach and smacked his lips. “I can taste it now. Okay, so—my car’s over there.”
“So’s mine,” I said, starting off for it at a fast jog. “Last one there buys the beers.”
* * *
Five minutes later, I screeched to a stop in front of DuBarry’s. Will was about four seconds behind me. We both clambered out of our cars and made a beeline for the front door, reaching it at about the same time. I turned to him, laughing. “Tie!”
He grinned back. “I’ll say this for you, Syd—you can still run.”
I grabbed at my sides and pantomimed panting. “Not like I used to, though. It’s tough, this getting old.”
He snorted. “Yeah, we’re the same age. Thirty-five isn’t exactly over the hill.”
“What’s that they say? Thirty is the new twenty?”
His gaze roved over me, rather appreciatively I thought. “You look just as good today as you did in high school.”
“You are such a liar.”
“Everyone’s entitled to their opinion. In mine, you look good.”
“You—you look good too,” I stammered.
He reached past me, his fingers lightly grazing my shoulder. A little shock of electricity coursed through me as he pushed the door open. “Shall we?” he asked. “I don’t mind saying I could probably eat two DuBarry burgers and maybe a whole platter of fries.”
“Not afraid of gaining that weight back?”
He looked at me searchingly. “There are ways to burn calories,” he murmured.
I ducked my head, hoping he wouldn’t see how my cheeks had started to flame, and entered the tavern foyer. DuBarry’s had definitely “classed up” since the last time I’d visited. What had once been a down-home type of bar and meeting place had now become more of a bar and upscale eatery. The main room was wide open, with tables scattered all around. The bar was a shining block of mahogany wood, accentuated by droplights and a long mirror. Padded stools in gold and purple flanked it. The lighting was dimmer than I remembered but cozy. A blackboard to the left of the bar had a large variety of specials listed on it. We hadn’t been standing there for more than two minutes when a young girl with long black hair, wearing a bright-red maxi dress that matched her lip gloss, sidled up to us, menus tucked under her arm. “Welcome to DuBarry’s.” She gave us both an appraising glance, but I noticed it lingered a fraction longer on Will. “First time?”
“First time since they’ve redone the place,” Will said with a smile. “We’ve been away for a while.”
<
br /> Her eyes narrowed slightly, and I saw her glance down at my left hand. “Ah, so you’re a couple who’s come back to your roots?”
“We’ve come home, but we’re not a couple,” I blurted.
Will squeezed my arm lightly and turned his smile on the girl, whose nametag read “Doris.” “We’re friends,” he said.
“That’s nice,” Doris purred, her gaze never leaving Will’s face. “One can never have too many friends.”
“Quite true. Tell me, do they still serve the DuBarry burger?”
“Oh yes. It’s our biggest seller.”
“And sweet potato fries?”
“Best in the county.” Her laugh tinkled out. “I can tell you’re hungry. Let me show you to a table.”
Hips swinging, Doris moved off. We followed her to a corner table close to the bar. She set the menus on the table and said, “I’ll send your server right over.” Her eyes fastened again on Will. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Will glanced up from the menu. “We could use two Michelobs. On tap, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’ll have your server bring them right over.” With another triple-wattage smile directed at Will, she moved off toward the bar.
“Wow, she wasn’t too obvious, was she?” I quipped. “It was as if I didn’t exist. I’m surprised she didn’t pass you a card with her phone number on it.”
Will picked up the menu. “Geez, Syd, like no guy’s ever flirted with you before.”
I tugged self-consciously on a strand of hair. “Well, yeah. But not for a long time.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, studying the menu. A tall girl with red hair and freckles whose name tag read “Polly” came over, carrying a tray on which rested two frosty mugs of Michelob. “Good evening,” she said. She set a mug in front of each of us. “I’m Polly, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear the specials?”
Will smiled up at her. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, is it Syd?”
I shook my head and held the menu out. “I’ll have a DuBarry burger, medium-rare, extra cheddar, no onion, and a side order of sweet potato fries.”
“Make that two, only I want my burger well done.”
Polly scribbled the order down, tucked the empty tray under one arm, grabbed our menus, and hurried off to the kitchen. Once she was out of earshot, Will leaned back in his seat and tented his fingers beneath his chin.
“Okay, Syd. Time to fess up. You were at the gym checking out Petra’s alibi?”
I gave a careful glance around, then leaned in closer to Will. In a low tone, I said, “Petra was there that morning. She was supposed to take the five thirty Zumba class, but it was canceled, so she took the seven thirty one instead.”
Will frowned. “Yeah, we know that. Petra told us that when she gave her statement.”
“How did she account for her time between five thirty AM and seven thirty?”
Will grimaced. “That’s where Bennington got a little rough with her, and she clammed up. Said she didn’t have to give us any more information unless we were charging her with something, and she’d be sure to have her lawyer present—why are you grinning?”
“No reason. That just sounds like her. Kat and I had a nice little chat with her as well. She stopped by the diner to tell everyone that now that she’s in control of Littleton’s money, she’s not planning on raising the rents.”
“That’s good news, right?”
“Yeah, for the stores. The shelter’s not out of danger yet—but that’s another story.” I leaned forward. “It doesn’t surprise me she clammed up around Bennington. He’s got the personality of a wet dishrag. On second thought, scratch that. A dishrag’s got more pizzazz.” I tapped my finger impatiently on the table. “You should get a statement from Dorrie Cavanaugh. She claims that she saw Petra Littleton in back of the gym around the time Littleton was killed. She feigned a stomachache to go outside and make a phone call.”
Will’s eyes slitted. “Did Dorrie mention a time?”
“She wasn’t certain, but she believes it was somewhere around five thirty. She was with the masseuse shortly before that. So . . .” I sat back in my chair. “It doesn’t look as if she could have done it.”
Will drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Probably not. Of course, the gym is close to the gallery, and she’s in good shape, but . . . we can get the phone records. If she was talking on her phone anywhere between five and six AM, she’s in the clear.” He lifted his head and grinned at me. “Well, what do you know? You’re pretty helpful after all, Syd.”
“Thanks—I think.” I let out a sigh. “I haven’t done myself any favors by eliminating Petra. It will move Kat further up the list, am I right?”
He reached across the table and grabbed both my hands in his. “Remember what I said, Syd. I won’t let Kat be railroaded for something she didn’t do.”
I didn’t pull my hands away but rather leaned over a bit closer. “What about Trey? He owed his stepfather a huge debt. Are you absolutely certain he couldn’t have done it?”
Will released my hands and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his cell. “100 percent. See?” He fiddled with the phone and then passed it over to me. I looked at the screen. On it was a photograph of Trey Devine, standing on what appeared to be a golf course, surrounded by a group of men. The time and date stamp read six AM on the morning of the murder.
“And before you ask, we checked out the photo. It hasn’t been tampered with.”
“Great,” I murmured. “We’re running out of suspects. Maybe Littleton named someone in that diary of his. Any luck with finding it?”
“Unfortunately, no. We went through that office with a fine-tooth comb, too. It’s either very well hidden, or . . .”
“Or Littleton’s killer took it,” I finished. I slumped back in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “We should never have sold our house,” I muttered.
He stared at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because if we hadn’t, Kat would probably still be living there, and I’d have moved in with her instead of Leila. Then I could have given her an alibi for the morning of Littleton’s death.”
He reached out and grasped my hand. “You told me that you didn’t want Kat around when you saw Littleton. That’s why you left so early. Think about it. If you’d been living with Kat, you’d have done the same thing, and you’d never have known if she was still in her room or not.”
I scowled. I didn’t want to admit he was right.
He touched my hand lightly. “Can you trust me to take care of this and watch out for you and Kat? Please?”
I was spared answering because Polly appeared just then, carrying a tray on which rested two fantastic-smelling burgers and a platter heaped with golden-brown sweet potato fries. “Who’s got the medium rare?” she asked with a big smile.
I raised my hand, and she set the plate in front of me. The burger looked extremely delicious, but my ravenous appetite had vanished. I picked it up and took a bite. The ground beef, expertly seasoned, tasted like sawdust in my mouth.
There was a third party involved in Littleton’s death—I was certain of it. And unless I could figure out who that was, and soon, I had a feeling my sister would soon be wearing an orange jumpsuit—and orange is so not her color.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a little before eleven PM when I finally pulled into my driveway. I let myself in the front door, switched on the table lamp, and flopped down on the sofa. I leaned my head back against the cushions. My head was pounding, mostly from frustration. For every two steps I thought I took forward, I ended up three steps behind.
I felt something soft brush against my ankles, and I looked down to see two bright-green eyes gazing back at me. Toby’s head was cocked, and his tail twitched behind him. He reached up and put his paw on my knee—his way, no doubt, of asking, rough night?
“You have no idea.” I reached down and gave him a scr
atch behind his ears. He immediately rolled over on his back, four paws in the air. I leaned over and trailed my fingers up and down his belly. He squinched his eyes closed and purred softly. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?” I asked softly. “Humans should be as easily satisfied.”
He opened one eye as if to say, You betcha.
I petted him for a few more minutes, and then I rose and stretched. Toby eased one eye open and looked at me.
“Time for bed, Toby,” I said. “Although to be honest, I don’t feel sleepy.”
I walked down the hall and into my bedroom, Toby close behind me. I stripped off my sweats, crawled into my pj’s, and hurried into the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face before returning to the bedroom. Toby was nowhere to be seen, but a second later I spotted him, curled up in a ball underneath my desk. I pulled the chair out and eased myself into it, then cast an eye at the whiteboard propped up across from me.
“Well, I’ve all but cleared Petra,” I announced. “And as for Trey and Colin, well, they’ve both got solid alibis and eyewitnesses. Someone else is involved here—but who could it be?”
I heard a slight rustling sound underneath my desk, and I bent over to look. Toby was lying on his side, his paws curled around a slip of yellow paper. I recognized it immediately. It was the note from the crime scene. I’d stashed it in my desk drawer, but apparently that hadn’t stopped Toby from somehow pilfering it.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “What have you got there?”
Toby lifted his head, cocked it, and pressed his treasure closer to his chest.
I pointed to the scrap of paper he held tightly in his claws. “Hey, Tobes. How about you give that back to me?”
I reached toward the paper, but Toby wriggled back, his claws digging more tightly into his prize. “Ow-owrr?”
Hmm, looked as if a trade might be in order. I opened the middle drawer of my desk and whipped out the small bag of cat treats I’d stashed inside. I shook a few out into my palm and bent toward Toby once again. I extended my hand, just close enough to his face so he could smell the liver-and-chicken treats.
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