Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My

by Denise Swanson

“Another thing.” I repeated Muffy and Noah’s conversation, then added, “It seems pretty clear that Gabriella was unhappy in her marriage.”

  “Maybe someone who knew she was fed up took advantage of the situation and lured her away,” Jake suggested. “Of course that doesn’t explain the way the crime scene was staged to look like a struggle, but that could have been the kidnapper trying to make it look more violent to scare Winston into paying.”

  “If it weren’t for that ransom note, I’d say she left of her own free will.” I flopped across my bed. “Speaking of that, is Elliot going to pay up? Tomorrow night is the deadline, right?”

  “Winston says he’s arranging to get the money and is ready to hand it over.” Static hissed on the line and it was hard to make out Jake’s words.

  “That surprises me.” I rolled over and propped myself up on one elbow. “Last night, Elliot hosted a huge party at the Manor for all the people he’s trying to persuade to support the wildlife park. Wouldn’t he have canceled that if he was spending his cash for ransom rather than going ahead with his pet project?”

  “It’s possible he’d prepaid for the event and figured he might as well grease the wheels even if opening the park had to be delayed a year.”

  “I supposed that could be it.” I frowned, not really happy with Jake’s reasoning.

  Whatever he said next was lost to the static, and after a few “huh’s?” and “what did you say?” we gave up. I think Jake said he’d see me later at the store. But the connection had gotten so bad he could also have said he was bored or had just been gored.

  I had just hit the END button when Mariah Carey’s “Anytime You Need a Friend” started playing from my cell. I glanced at the time. What was Poppy doing calling at nine a.m.?

  “Hey, girl,” I greeted her. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “I needed to let you know that Jesus will be at the dime store at two thirty.” Poppy yawned. “After I talked to him, I forgot to let you know.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I stared at the phone as if it were a bomb. Had Poppy suddenly found religion? But even if she had, how would she know the precise moment and location of the second coming?

  “Are you there?” Poppy’s voice brought me back to my senses.

  “Yes,” I answered cautiously, wondering if I should dial 911 for her. I mean if she thought she’d talked to God, she might be having a psychotic break. Right?

  “Did you hear me?” Poppy’s tone was impatient. “My handyman said he could look at your wiring this afternoon. Is that okay?”

  Ah. Not Jesus. Hey-zoose. I forgot that Poppy had flunked high school Spanish.

  “That’s fine,” I quickly assured her.” Why didn’t you just text me?”

  “Uh.” Poppy hesitated, cleared her throat, then said, “The thing is . . . Are you really willing to referee between Dad and me?”

  “Sure,” I said quickly before my real feelings about the matter could surface.

  While I wanted to help Poppy and her father improve their relationship, I wasn’t sure I could. And if I failed, they both might hate me.

  “Any possibility you could do it this morning?” Poppy asked.

  “I guess so.” I immediately started rescheduling things in my mind.

  “Great.” Poppy’s voice was tentative. “Mom says that Dad is planning to do paperwork in his office until the noon city council meeting. Can you meet me at the police station in an hour?”

  “Give me two.” I had some phone calls to make first.

  “Sure.” Her voice sounded a little too happy at the delay.

  “If we do this, just remember, two people can look at the exact same issue and see it totally differently. And neither of those people is wrong.”

  Poppy made a sound that could have been agreement, but then again it could also have been gas. We said good-bye, and, wondering what I was getting myself into, I rushed to my closet. What did one wear to mediate a truce between a bad girl and her police chief father?

  I put on a pair of dark jeans and my black Devereaux’s Dime Store polo shirt, then added a houndstooth blazer. I figured that Chief Kincaid would appreciate a more traditional appearance.

  After making my calls, I took a long shower, and after using a blow-dryer on my hair, I twisted it into a chignon. I carefully applied my makeup, and when I was satisfied with my appearance, I slipped on a pair of black loafers.

  I grabbed my tennis shoes for later, and, yelling to Gran that I was leaving, I headed outside. Hopping in my car, I drove to town, all the while doubting this was a good idea.

  When I arrived at the police department, Poppy’s Hummer was already parked in front of the building. As soon as I eased into the spot next to hers, my friend jumped out of the huge vehicle and met me at the PD’s front door. Before my phobia could kick in, she pulled me inside and dragged me up the short staircase to the desk.

  The dispatcher greeted Poppy and asked, “Did you want to see your father?”

  “Unless he’s busy.” Poppy took a few steps back and I blocked her exit.

  I could tell by Poppy’s expression that she was regretting her decision and looking for any excuse not to talk to her dad, so I asked, “Is Chief Kincaid alone?” When the dispatcher nodded, I said, “Then please tell him his daughter and I are here.”

  A couple of seconds later we were sitting in the chief’s office. He pushed aside the mountain of files and looked at us enquiringly.

  Poppy’s hand clung to mine, and when I glanced at her, I saw tiny beads of sweat on her top lip. Clearly, it was up to me to start the conversation.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Chief. I know you’re a busy man.” It never hurt to butter up the opposition in a negotiation. “Poppy would really like to repair the rift between you two, but feels that perhaps you don’t always hear what she’s trying to say.”

  “That’s because half the time she doesn’t make any sense,” the chief snarled.

  “Wrong,” Poppy snapped. “I have a doctorate in sarcasm, a black belt in sass, and took first prize in bitching.” She tilted her head and smiled sweetly at her father. “I’m an effing conversational ninja.”

  The chief’s face reddened, and as Poppy opened her mouth to goad him, I dug my nails into her thigh.

  “Okay, evidently we need some ground rules.” I took a deep breath. “The two of you have to listen to each other with an open mind, knowing that neither one of you is going to change your opinions.”

  They both scowled at me, but the chief gave a grudging nod and said, “Go on.”

  “First, Poppy is not going to close Gossip Central and attend grad school to obtain a psych degree.” I figured I’d start with the easy stuff. “Not only is she happy running the business, she’s extremely good at it.”

  “And I make a great living and it’s fun,” Poppy blurted out.

  “Work isn’t supposed to be fun.” Chief Kincaid scowled. “It’s supposed to be meaningful.”

  “Now, Chief”—I quickly intervened—“can you honestly say you don’t relish being a policeman? That you only became an officer out of civic duty?”

  There was a long pause before he said, “No. I do enjoy making sure everyone is safe.”

  “And Poppy likes helping them relax.” I smiled. “I’m sure she uses a lot of the psychological skills she learned in college with her customers. I know they tell her their problems.”

  “Fine.” The chief jerked his chin. “What I can’t accept is where she got the funds to start the bar. It’s tainted, and I can’t get over that fact.”

  “Uncle Blackie is a good man,” Poppy snarled over my comment. “Just because you—”

  Cutting her off, I said to the chief, “Despite your aversion to how your brother earned his money, what he did wasn’t illegal.”

  “But it was immoral.” Ch
ief Kincaid crossed his arms. “Using women like that is despicable, and Blackie should be horsewhipped.”

  “Actually,” I said, keeping my tone even, “I did some research on him and his business. Yes, High Tail Inn is a brothel, but his employees receive a higher cut of their fees and have better health care and living conditions than any other sex workers in the state. If the women don’t have a high school diploma, he pays for their GED, and he’s sent a good handful to college. There’s no rough stuff allowed, and each woman has an emergency button in her room. If the client does anything she’s not okay with, she is told to press the button, and there is a security guard on each floor.”

  “So he’s a humanitarian pimp?” Chief Kincaid sneered. “It’s still wrong.”

  “Be that as it may”—I decided it was time to move on—“what’s done is done, and Poppy is within months of repaying her uncle’s loan.”

  “Really?” Chief Kincaid blinked. “How in the world is that possible?”

  “Because I’m good at what I do, Dad.” Poppy leaned forward. “I’m a good businesswoman. I run an excellent club. And my customers come back.”

  “I see.” The chief rubbed his jaw. “Still, it’s time to straighten up and settle down.”

  “Chief, think about it,” I said. “Poppy has done just that. When’s the last time she got into any trouble or you heard of any problem she caused?”

  “Well . . .” He wrinkled his brow.

  “It’s been several years, hasn’t it?” I asked.

  “Dad, I’m not the wild child I was in high school and college.” Poppy’s breath hitched. “I may never be the daughter you hoped for, but I’m not a complete screw-up, either. At Christmas when you said to Mom you wished that all those years ago it had been the other one who was killed in the accident, not Iris, I . . .” She trailed off, then whispered, “I’m sorry, but I can’t help that she died instead of me.”

  “What!” The chief jumped to his feet, rushed around the desk, and snatched Poppy from her chair. Clutching her to his chest he said, “I meant the driver of the other car, not you. I love you just as much as I loved your sister. Never think that I would have sacrificed you for her. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. To fall in love with a good man and give me some grandchildren.”

  “I’m trying, Daddy,” Poppy sobbed. “But he wants someone else.”

  That was my cue to leave. If I’d learned anything in my years as an investment consultant, I’d learned that finding out someone’s secret can change your life forever. And I wasn’t ready for that to happen between me and Poppy.

  I stood, slipped out the door, and headed to the dime store. I’d spend the time before my father went off duty making gift baskets and not thinking about which guy Poppy had meant. If my suspicion was true, things might never be the same between us.

  CHAPTER 15

  As Jake drove his pickup the short distance between the Winstons’ subdivision and the country club, he considered what he’d learned during his door-to-door canvas. Although the police had already talked to Gabriella’s neighbors and hadn’t learned anything significant, Jake had considered it worth another try.

  When he’d worked as a U.S. Marshal, he’d discovered that sometimes after the initial questioning, folks recalled additional details. However, for several reasons—not wanting to get involved or thinking whatever they remembered wasn’t important or even just plain laziness—they failed to report the information. But sometimes if they were reinterviewed, they’d share those facts.

  Jake had lucked out with a woman who lived across the street from the Winstons. Her house was at a diagonal from the vic’s place, so her view from home was poor, but luckily she’d been walking her dog Saturday night. She’d told him that the motion sensor lights in the Winstons’ side yard had turned on around nine thirty, and shortly afterward, she’d heard their kitchen door’s distinctive squeak as it opened.

  No one else in the area had noticed any sign of life from Saturday evening until Elliot Winston’s return Sunday morning. With that data and the arrival of the ransom note, Jake could now better focus his queries.

  First on his list were the folks at the country club. The police had already spoken to the members who attended the dance and the employees, but Jake had questions that he doubted the officers had asked. Especially since they hadn’t known about Gabriella’s relationship with the golf pro.

  After Jake turned between the two enormous brick columns, he followed the pristine blacktop to the club’s lot, parked, and got out of his truck. Strolling around the perimeter of the club, perspiration trickled down his spine. Temperatures had soared into the eighties, and it was damn warm with the sun pounding down on him.

  Stopping near the rear of the building, he squinted across the golf course and nodded to himself. In the distance, he could just make out the Winstons’ backyard. As he’d suspected, it was a straight shot from their place to the clubhouse.

  The dog-walking neighbor had said there weren’t any vehicles in the Winstons’ driveway and had been sure there were no boats on the lake. That meant the kidnapper had to have another means of transporting Gabriella. She might have been walked out of the neighborhood through the woods, but Jake’s bet was that she’d been taken via golf cart.

  Making his way back to the front entrance, Jake saw a guy in his late teens wearing a black sweater and a pair of black frayed denim jeans cleaning out the pool. Considering the heat, Jake thought the boy was rushing the fall season a little.

  And as he watched, the kid wiped the sweat dripping into his eyes, thus proving Jake right. He hid a smile. Evidently, fashion was more important to the guy than comfort.

  Jake moved closer and said, “Hey. Have you worked here long?”

  The kid turned to look at him, and Jake saw that one side of the guy’s hair was shaved and a swath of dyed black hair hung over the opposite eye, the ends catching in the studs on the sweater’s shoulder. The boy stared at Jake, then shrugged silently and went back to digging out debris from the pool’s filter.

  “Son, I asked you a question.” Jake kept his voice pleasant.

  “Bugger off.” The kid flung a mass of dripping leaves in Jake’s general direction, but missed by a mile.

  The little bastard’s lame try at being a badass was annoying, and Jake wished he still had his tin to flash, although with this kind of kid it would probably result in less cooperation rather than more. Jake was tempted to walk away, but this jerk was the type who wouldn’t have talked to the police. On the other hand, he probably knew all sorts of crap about the rich adults he was forced to serve.

  Taking a calming breath, Jake said, “Fine. I just thought you might want to earn an easy twenty bucks. But I guess I was wrong.”

  The kid smirked, opened his mouth, then, after staring at Jake’s unsmiling face, seemed to reconsider and said, “What do I gotta do?”

  “Answer a few questions.” Jake took his wallet out, selected a bill, and folded it in half lengthways. “Do you know Gabriella Winston?”

  “Yeah.” The kid fingered his earring. “I’ve seen her around.”

  “Who does she hang out with?” Jake ran the twenty between his fingers.

  “Her and Muffy Morgan are tight.” The boy reached for the money.

  “Hold on, there.” Jake stepped out of the kid’s reach. “Anyone else?”

  “She used to play tennis with the club president’s wife, but that stopped a while ago.” The boy sneered. “Heard they had some sort of catfight. The prez’s wife must have found out about Mac and Ms. Winston.”

  “The golf pro?”

  “Yep.” The kid snickered. “The bitches around here have no idea how many women Mac is sticking it into.” The boy laughed. “The delusional old cougars think that a young guy like Mac actually finds them hot.”

  “Oh?” Jake encouraged. The kid was on a roll and Jake
didn’t want to interrupt.

  “Yeah.” The boy sneered. “What they don’t realize is that any broad can have the body of a twenty-nine-year-old. At least, they can if they’re willing to buy him expensive shit afterward.”

  “Interesting.” Jake scratched his jaw. “So McGowan’s for sale?”

  “Yep. One even bought him a car. A fugly car, but still a brand-new car. All the old bags think they’re his”—the kid nodded, then raised his voice to a falsetto and said—“one true love.”

  “Any chance that the thing between Mac and Gabriella was different than the rest?” Jake asked, trying to figure out if any of this was relevant to his case. “Could their relationship have been serious?”

  “Doubtful.” The boy twitched his shoulders. “I think they broke up after the hot tub incident a few months ago.” The kid held out his palm. “Now hand over my money.”

  “One more question.” Jake crossed his arms. “Were you working Saturday night?”

  “Nope.” The boy shook his head. “They don’t let the likes of me indoors.” He cracked up. “They know that I’m not housebroken.”

  Jake chuckled and gave the kid the cash, started to go, then turned back and asked, “Is Mac around?”

  “He didn’t show up for work on Sunday and hasn’t been here since.”

  As Jake headed to the front of the building, he considered the meaning of McGowan’s absence. Had he kidnapped his lover and was holding her for ransom? He hadn’t realized the guy was so young. Gabriella was forty-four. Fifteen years was a big age difference.

  The clubhouse’s ultramodern design wasn’t to Jake’s taste. The impressive entrance was cold and unwelcoming. And the overhead windows that appeared to hang unsuspended over the steps were just plain creepy.

  When Jake stepped into the lobby, an elegantly dressed woman at the reception desk looked up from her computer and said, “May I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak to the club manager.” Jake smiled at the woman.

  “Ms. Xiong is busy right now.” The receptionist glanced back at her monitor, clicked on something, and asked, “Do you have an appointment?”