by J. R. Ripley
‘Excuse me.’ I picked up his empty plate and tossed it in the recycle bin. Brian lives with his new wife, Anita, and two kids down in the Phoenix suburbs, along with that dog the size of Mom’s Volkswagen. Brian looked like he’d lost a few pounds from his banker days. Driving a truck seemed to be requiring a little more muscle than working as a desk jockey.
‘I was dropping off some medical supplies in Prescott when I heard about the murder in your café.’ Brian rested his hand on my lower arm. ‘I wanted to be sure you were OK. I came as fast as I could.’
I yanked my arm away. ‘I’m fine. Everything’s under control.’ Well, sort of. The café was up and running and I had plenty of leads to go on concerning who’d killed Mr Wilbur.
He reached for my arm again but I kept out of range. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?’
‘No.’ I flapped my towel and retreated behind the counter to help four young men who’d just come in wearing soccer uniforms. ‘Can I help you?’ I scratched down their order and moved to the fryer. Aubrey returned from her break and I was glad to see her.
When the boys were seated and enjoying their food and refreshments, Brian ambled up to the fryer once more. ‘Guess I’ll be off. It was good to see you again.’
He stood there hesitantly. If he was waiting for me to say it had been good to see him, too, he was in for a long, long wait. ‘’Bye,’ I said finally, glancing at him.
‘If you need anything, just let me know.’
‘Wait!’ I said as Brian started for the door.
He turned around, a smile broadening his face. ‘Yeah?’
‘There is one thing you could do for me?’
‘Yeah, what’s that?’
My eyes sparkled as I grinned. ‘You could say that you murdered Rick Wilbur.’
His brow deepened. ‘Who’s Rick—’ He stopped. ‘Oh.’ The corner of his mouth twisted up. ‘Very funny, Mags.’
I shrugged lamely. ‘It was worth a shot.’ I’d learned to stop complaining anytime he or anybody else for that matter called me Mags. It sounded too much like maggots said three times too fast.
Mom and my sister came in shortly after, bringing Andy and the boys with them. I treated them all. It was fun seeing the looks of joy on my nephews’ faces as they bit into the sugar-covered treats. Donna and Andy weren’t big on sweets and didn’t allow a lot of refined sugar in their house. I half-suspected they were un-American.
But my joy at sharing my opening day with my family was spoiled when Detective Mark Highsmith walked in the door, after first holding said door open for dear old VV, Veronica Vargas, looking blazing hot in a sharp navy skirt suit, with a small black Chanel purse slung over her shoulder. She blew in on a perfumed waft of air like she owned the place.
For the first time I wondered if I was cursed. I shut my eyes for a moment, in search of my happy place, then opened them.
So, of course, that’s when Brian had to come bursting through the door once again, leaving Highsmith still holding it open.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I huffed.
‘Can you believe it?’ He waved a piece of paper in the air. ‘Some moron gave me a ticket.’ Brian strode right up to my face, bristling. I’d always felt his ears were too large for his head. At the moment he looked like an angry blue-eyed koala. And that was not a compliment. ‘You told me I was supposed to park in the alley. That’s why I moved my truck in the first place. Now some idiot cop gives me a ticket.’
He waved the ticket around some more. I hoped Highsmith was enjoying this as much as I was. ‘Yeah, cops,’ I said, feigning commiseration. I glared at Highsmith. ‘A royal pain.’
Brian shook his head. ‘Tell me about it.’
I turned to the detective. ‘Have you seen enough?’
‘Enough for what?’ VV had her arm laced through the crook in his elbow. While she was dressed to the nines, as I suspected she always was, he was in jeans and a polo shirt.
‘Enough to arrest this guy, of course.’
Highsmith cocked an eyebrow. ‘On what charge?’
‘Disturbing the peace, making a public nuisance?’
‘Hey, what are you talking about?’ Brian asked.
I ignored my dead husband.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Highsmith. He and Veronica shared a look.
‘How about public stupidity then?’
‘How about some food?’ Highsmith said, leading VV to the counter where Aubrey described our offerings, which at this point included only the plate of three original French donuts, plus coffee, orange juice, hot and cold chocolate milk and soft drinks.
‘Who is that guy?’ demanded Brian as I shoved him out the door.
‘Police officer,’ I said, giving him a nudge toward the street. ‘You’d better leave quickly before he changes his mind and throws the book at you. That one’s got a nasty reputation!’ I gave Brian another push.
‘Thanks, Mags!’
I stood on the sidewalk grinning as I watched Brian turn the corner to the alley. I wiped my hands on my apron and shot back inside. What the devil were the detective and the prosecuting attorney doing here?
Detective Highsmith and Ms Vargas were just settling down at a table near the window when I returned. ‘Have fun poking around in my underwear drawer?’
Highsmith reddened as VV’s eyebrows inched up. ‘Ran our search of Ms Miller’s apartment last evening.’
Veronica bobbed her chin. I’d been hoping to get a bigger rise out of her. Dang, she was the coolest of cucumbers. ‘Poor you.’
I wasn’t sure if she meant Highsmith or me, so I let it slide. ‘How is everything?’ I inquired.
Veronica sipped slowly, lofting a ladylike finger. ‘Interesting.’ I studied her lips closely. Not so much as a smudge or a dab of powdered sugar. How the devil did she do it?
‘Good,’ said Highsmith. ‘Really good. These beignets are delicious. I’ve got to say, it’s the first time I’ve tried one and I’m a fan.’
I shifted my weight as I watched them. ‘Is this the only reason you’re here? For the food?’ Were they spying on me? Maybe even about to charge me with the murder of Rick Wilbur? Had they found something in my apartment that, in their narrow minds, they thought implicated me? Did I need to phone Andy? Arrange bail?
Veronica returned my stare. ‘What other reason could there be?’ She batted her lashes at me.
Oh, how I hated this woman. ‘None, I guess.’ My mind’s gears turned round and round. ‘You know,’ I said finally, leaning a hand on the table, ‘I’ve learned some interesting things about Rick Wilbur, his wife, his nephew and a whole lot of other people in the last couple of days.’ I directed my words toward Detective Highsmith.
He stuck an entire beignet in his mouth, chewed for several moments, then swallowed. I watched as the bolus moved down his throat, a sight akin to watching a bullsnake swallow a whole rat. ‘You’re not poking your nose into our murder investigation, are you, Ms Miller?’ He raised his cup to his lips and drank, then set the cup down.
‘Because that would be interfering with the law.’ Veronica folded her arms in her lap, her face rigid.
‘Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘I simply heard things. Table Rock’s a small town. You know how it is.’
Highsmith nodded slowly. ‘You leave it to us,’ he said, rising leisurely. ‘Ready to go, Veronica?’
‘In a moment, Mark.’ VV tapped at her perfect front upper teeth with a perfect fingernail. ‘If there is anything you can tell us that would further the investigation – any evidence at all that you are aware of – we’d be very interested in hearing about it.’
My eyes lifted to the ceiling tiles. Was she really interested? Or was this a trick of some sort? I was still pretty certain that the delightful VV would like nothing more than to see me hang for the murder of Mr Wilbur.
Ignoring my better judgment in my urge to show these two chumps how much I’d discovered – and in the process prove my innocence – I grabbed a
chair from the empty table beside theirs and slid into it uninvited. ‘First of all, there’s Tommy Henson.’ The words spilled out. ‘He’s a nephew of Mr Wilbur’s. He wanted a job but Mr Wilbur wasn’t interested in hiring him.’
‘So you think Tommy murdered his uncle over it?’ That was Detective Highsmith.
I shrugged. ‘Could be, right?’ I waved my hand. ‘But wait, there’s more. I think Wilbur Realty might be in trouble, too. And then there’s Johnny Wolfe—’
‘From The Hitching Post?’ VV asked.
I nodded. ‘He and Rick were seen together having a heated discussion and I found a Wilbur Realty pen on the floor in their stockroom.’ I went on quickly, ignoring the unfathomable look that had just come from VV: ‘He’s got quite a temper, believe me. And then there’s Patti Wilbur. And her sister, Natalie! They could be in cahoots!’ I paused. ‘Or Natalie and Tommy could be in cahoots.’ I scratched my chin. I really wasn’t sure. But my excitement was rising now. There were just so many possibilities!
My eyes jumped to Karma Koffee across the street. ‘And don’t even get me started on Rob and Trish at the coffee shop.’ I pointed. ‘Those two are a real pair of odd birds. They couldn’t stand Mr Wilbur. Rob said so himself.’
My eyes dodged to Aubrey. ‘She must have told you all about how the two men didn’t get on and how she saw Rob and Rick arguing over here, right?’
Highsmith looked skeptical. ‘In cahoots?’
‘Who even uses that word anymore?’ Veronica flashed an amused glance toward Highsmith.
A bolt of anger shot through me. He wasn’t listening to a word I was saying. In fact, the two of them were mocking me!
Here I’d been planning to tell them all about how they should be looking for my two missing chairs. They could forget it now. More than ever, I was determined to solve this crime for them.
I slammed back my chair and stood up. ‘I’m merely trying to point out,’ I said, pressing my hands against my hips, ‘that there were plenty of other people in Table Rock who might have wanted to see Rick Wilbur dead. Despite what you think, plenty of people actually thought he was a jerk! Maybe even worth killing!’
Both Detective Highsmith and Veronica Vargas were looking past me now. ‘What’s so interesting?’ I snapped.
Veronica silently pointed behind me. I turned. My stomach fell. ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Wilbur.’ I smiled weakly. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
I did hear her go out.
That woman knew how to slam a door.
TWENTY-THREE
Things went downhill after that. I ran to the counter and grabbed the new marble rolling pin. ‘Look at this,’ I insisted. ‘A brand-new rolling pin.’
‘Congratulations.’ Highsmith looked down his nose. ‘So?’
I shook the rolling pin in the space between us. ‘So, this rolling pin is identical to the one I had before. You know,’ I said, ‘the one that killed Rick Wilbur!’
‘I repeat. So?’
Veronica tugged Highsmith’s shirt. ‘If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late for the movie.’
He nodded.
I dug in my pockets and fished out the wad of paper that had once been the rolling pin’s accompanying note. ‘So look at this.’ I held the dried lump of paper in my hand. Seeing it lying there, it didn’t look all that impressive. I could see by the looks in their eyes that they didn’t think so either.
‘This note, well, not this note.’ I stuck the lump back in my pocket. ‘I mean, it was that note, but Mom washed it.’ I shook my head in a desperate attempt to sort my thoughts.
‘Anyway, it was in my storeroom with the rolling pin. I don’t know who left it there but I do know why.’ I slammed the rolling pin down on the counter. I hadn’t really meant to let it drop that hard, but dang that thing was heavy. Solid marble, remember?
‘Because you needed a new rolling pin?’ Veronica said.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘It was a warning.’
‘What sort of a warning?’ asked the detective.
‘Not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.’
Highsmith was quick to reply. ‘Sounds more like good advice than a warning.’
Veronica looked up at her companion. ‘Do you think it’s worth checking for prints, Mark?’
‘Look at it.’ He pointed down at the counter at the rolling pin. ‘It’s covered with flour and sugar. Good luck lifting any prints from that thing. Plus, she’s been handling it.’
Veronica nodded.
‘If you thought it was evidence why the heck are you even using it, Ms Miller?’ He scolded me with his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you bring it straight to the station?’
‘Well, in the first place, I was sort of busy at the time. In the second place—’
‘Yes?’
I studied my shoes. ‘My mother washed it.’
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
I lifted my chin. ‘My mother washed it. Are you happy now?’
VV draped her arm around Highsmith’s slender waist. ‘The movie.’
As soon as Table Rock’s least favorite couple left, I accosted Aubrey. ‘You never did tell me what happened when you went to the police station to tell them about how you saw Rob arguing with Rick.’ I pulled her close. ‘You did tell them, didn’t you?’
Aubrey nodded. ‘Yes, but not that guy. I explained it to a woman in uniform I met when I entered.’
I frowned. ‘What was her reaction exactly?’
Aubrey scrunched up the side of her face. ‘Not much. She thanked me and everything and said she would make sure to pass on the information to the officer in charge of the investigation.’
That would be Highsmith. I let out a deep sigh. It had been a long day, and if life was quicksand, I was sinking deeper with every move I made.
Was I the only person who cared about finding Rick Wilbur’s killer? Or was everybody so certain that I had killed the guy that they weren’t capable of looking any further?
I sent Aubrey home – it had been a long day for her too – and closed up early. I could see already that I was going to have to take my sister up on her offer of splitting one of her part-timers from Mother Earth/Father Sun Grocers to cover a shift. I couldn’t expect Aubrey to put in twelve-hour days. I wasn’t even sure how long I could keep up the pace.
Plus, I’d promised to feed Mr Teller’s cat. I groaned as I climbed up onto the Schwinn and pedaled into the western sun. There was still plenty of light this time of year. Thank goodness for that. I dislike riding in the dark.
Clive was right: finding Teller’s bungalow was easy – and those cobalt blue shutters. Ick. What was the man thinking? The yard was mostly dust. A desiccated and browning three-armed cactus sat two paces from the porch. A tan Buick sat in the drive. I spotted two more scraggly little cacti growing from a corner of the roof.
I parked my bike behind the car, walked up and knocked on the door just in case Ed or anyone else was home. Two of the three front windows were crudely boarded up. Clive was wrong. This wasn’t a fixer-upper. This was a tearer-downer.
I wished I’d brought a spray can of disinfectant to squirt myself down with afterward. Something told me this house would be just crawling with cooties. I didn’t want them coming home with me.
I dug around at the bottom of my purse and pulled out the house keys. The key turned easily enough. I pulled open the door and was immediately accosted by a hot wave of stale air and the ever delightful smell of cat.
‘Here, kitty, kitty!’
Whoosh!
I looked between my legs just in time to see Carol Two fly between them. ‘Hey!’ I ran after her as she turned the corner to the backyard. ‘Come back here!’ I panted. ‘I’ve got kibble!’
Fortunately, Edwin’s cat, Carol Two, hadn’t gone far. I spied her licking her tail on a dirty patch of concrete that served as the back patio. A rusted charcoal grill and a green and white lawn chair with a couple of broken straps gave the patio a certain ambience.
Shabby eek
.
Looking around, it was clear to see that the entire yard was in total disrepair. Had the previous occupant left it this way or was Ed one lousy housekeeper? Of course, he was in the hospital so I guess I had to cut him a little slack.
I trod slowly and carefully to the calico. She seemed content where she was and I did my best to speak cat to her as I approached, not wanting to spook her and spend the rest of my night chasing some cat I didn’t know all around a neighborhood I didn’t know, for a guy I didn’t know.
I spotted a pile containing an odd assortment of lumber, some cement blocks, bags of cement and a roll of chicken wire. Either Edwin was remodeling on the cheap or he was building a chicken coop. Pity the poor chickens if he was. Out here, in the flat yard, with its distinct lack of shade and not a tree in sight, they’d be broasted in a day.
To call the detached one-car garage ramshackle was being very generous. Its pitched roof was more pitched to the left than could possibly be normal, the shingles were decaying and there was a depression on the near side of the roof that looked like a ten-ton boulder might have once sat there. The windows were clouded with dirt where the glass hadn’t been busted out. I suspected it was going to take a younger, healthier man than Ed Teller to set this place right again.
I worked my way through the land field of debris and junk that cluttered the yard and scooped up Carol Two. ‘That’s a good kitty.’ I rubbed her head and was rewarded with a purr.
As I set Carol Two down inside the front door, careful to pull it shut behind me to avoid going another round with her, I heard the ringing of a telephone from somewhere deep in the shadow-filled house. I walked quickly, following the sound and, after stepping through a short hallway, found myself in the low-ceilinged kitchen.
My eyes bounced off the walls. Yikes, what hideous wallpaper! Strips of pink gerbera daisies and purple pansies. How appetizing. I squinted. What were those lumps between the flowers? I looked closer. Cows? Were those cows?
By the looks of it, the wallpaper must’ve been original. It certainly wasn’t something Mr Teller had newly pasted up, not with the tears and peeling and the nicotine stains that added a yellow tinge to the room and stink that my nostrils instantly picked up and started sending signals directly to my stomach creating an urgent desire to puke.