Her eyes flashed sheer anguish at Win. She held her stomach as though she might vomit. “You know what? If Les did do it, I’m glad! Doug was a disgusting pig. I’m glad he’s gone, and I won’t apologize for it. He made Cleo miserable and anxious and the last straw was putting a pin in her dream of having children. He led her on, then led her on some more until he dropped the hammer. He deserved what he got for being such a shady jerk, and I don’t care how that sounds!”
Gripping her hand tighter, I acknowledged her painful struggle. “I know this is a pretty hectic time for you, with your upcoming wedding, Tammy, and I know you love both your friends. That said, I can’t just ignore the fact that the police might have the wrong person.”
Her eyes turned angry as she swiped at her tears. “You know what? Go ahead—tell the police! I—”
“Tammy? Honey? Are you okay?”
Enter a tall, handsome young man of maybe thirty who rounded the parked cars and came to stand next to Tammy, putting his arm protectively around her waist.
The regal way he walked and his square jaw, chiseled as though out of marble, the way the warm breeze lifted his chocolate-brown hair made him appear as though he were Prince Charming, riding in on his white steed to save his beautiful princess. I’m not kidding, folks. The comparison is real. They looked like they belonged in a fairytale.
Tammy buried her face in his broad shoulder, covered in a white polo shirt. “They want me to go to the police about Leslie, Jay! I can’t. I just can’t!” she cried.
He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “It’s okay, honey.” When he looked at us, he asked without a shred of malice, “I guess you guys are the local gumshoes?” Then he smiled, his gleaming-white teeth utter perfection. “I’ve heard a lot about you. We all have. All good stuff. They say you’re the people to go to when there’s trouble.”
Win held out his hand. “Christoph Winningham. You are?”
He took Win’s hand and shook it with a firm shake, the sun dancing over his shiny dark hair, making it gleam. “Jason Burns. Jay for short.” Then he clucked his tongue with a sad expression. “Sorry the circumstances are so glum.”
Burns, huh? I wondered if that was Burns as in Burns Financial Management, a leader in hedge funds? Money always finds money, I suppose.
I peered at this handsome young man and nodded. “I’m Stevie Cartwright. Did you know Doug, too?”
As Tammy clung to him, he rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Yeah. We all did. We did dinner with them sometimes. You know, couples stuff. I know the girls didn’t like him, but I thought he was okay.”
Tammy swatted his chest and leaned back from his embrace. “He was a dirtbag, Jay, and you know it. Why do all men stick up for each other?”
He grabbed her hand and brought it to his chest. “I’m not sticking up for him, honey. I know he did crummy things to your friend. I just meant, he was a decent enough guy when he wasn’t running around on her. He was easy to get along with.”
Tammy’s face twisted into a disgusted frown. “Remember what I told you about Leslie’s confession? I told them. Now they want me to rat her out so Cleo’s not the only suspect in douchebag Doug’s murder. Cast suspicion on her or whatever police jargon they use.”
“That’s not what I want at all, Tammy,” I responded in protest, hiking my purse over my shoulder in aggravation. To think no one would find out what Tammy told us about Leslie was plum bananas. Someone would dig it up and get it out of one of them sooner or later. It was as if these women lacked a crucial critical-thinking gene or something. “I don’t want another suspect just to have another suspect. I want the truth, and anything—any piece of information, big or small—that might lead to the truth is important. Telling the police, who have the authority to make arrests, is important.”
“You want me to choose between my friends!” Tammy cried as the wind picked up.
But Jay stepped in and saved me from wrapping my hands around her long, graceful neck and throttling her. “That’s not true, honey, and you know it. Is it fair for Cleo to go to jail for something Leslie might have done? I know you love them both, but right is right and wrong is wrong, and it’s wrong to keep information from the police.”
Tammy stared out at the rows of parked cars glinting in the sunlight, her lower lip almost trembling. “Cleo’s my matron of honor. How am I supposed to do this without her? But Leslie’s my friend, too, Jay! The wedding’s a total mess.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that someone could be in jail who’s been wrongly accused. You don’t want that, do you, honey?”
“Of course I don’t, babe. I don’t want either of them to go to jail! They’re like my sisters.”
Jay cupped her cheek with his lean hand. “I know, Tam, but we have to do the right thing. How fair is it for you to put the burden of that information on these two nice people? I told you that earlier.”
“She’ll kill me,” Tammy muttered. Then she looked at us with guilty eyes. “Sorry. Really bad choice of adverbs.”
Jay smiled at her indulgently. “It’s a verb and she might have already killed Doug, Tam,” he reminded her. “Please don’t gamble with Cleo’s life like that.”
On a long, drawn-out sigh, Tammy gave us a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll go to the police, along with the million other things I have to do today.”
Jay dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll help you, honey. Whatever you need.”
“A ride to the police station?” she asked with a sweet smile before pressing a kiss to his lips.
“You got it, beautiful,” he said, tucking her arm under his before turning to us. “We’ll head right over to the station. Anyone in particular we should speak with?”
“Officer Dana Nelson,” Win replied.
Jay nodded and smiled again. “Thanks again, you two.”
As they threaded their way through the cars and became two small dots on the horizon, I looked to Win. “He seemed nice.”
Win smiled. “And reasonable, which is exactly what that woman needs. Now, it’s almost four. Shall we go home before you drag me to the country club to ask questions of the staff?”
Giggling, I shook my head. “How did you know that was the next place I planned to make some solid enemies?”
Win chucked me under the chin. “Oh, Dove. There truly isn’t any rest for the wicked, is there?”
“I’ll say. You’d think I was the one who whacked Doug.” All I wanted to do was help, but everyone made me feel like I was doing anything but.
“I knew because it was the most logical choice, and you’re nothing if not logical—mostly, that is. Now, shall we go home and change first?”
I gave him a questioning gaze. “Why?”
“Dinner, of course. I’ve had a particularly brutal day, and I don’t feel like cooking. I thought we’d dine at the country club.”
Well, la-di-da. Of course someone like Win would think they’d just let us in the country club because we showed up. “We don’t have to have dinner there to question this Ryan Gimble. We can do that without having anything. Besides, they’re not just going to let us in there, Win. You have to be a member.”
He bowed in front of me with a chuckle. “Ah, Dove, know ye nothing of my charms? If I can manage to finagle my way into a sultan’s palace, I can find my way into a Podunk country club. You let me do the talking and we’ll have a lovely meal I don’t have to cook.”
I stewed over the comment Leslie made. “Podunk,” I spat in disgust. “I’ll show her Podunk when I wrestle her to the ground and put her in a half nelson.”
Win laughed out loud, his chuckle carrying on the breeze. “Now, now, Dove. Let’s go home. You can take a nice hot shower and loosen up your muscles for the impending wrestling match, yes?”
I latched onto his hand as we headed back to the car one more time. “Boy did that burn my britches.”
Win stopped and looked behind me with a twinkle in his eye. “But it didn�
��t leave a mark. You came out unscathed, Dove. Well done.”
I made a comical karate chop move. “Lucky for Leslie I didn’t act on my baser instincts or she’d be toast.”
“And what are your feelings on what we’ve learned about Leslie today?” he asked, laughing at me
I resumed walking toward the water as I considered that. “I conclude she’s not above suspicion. But again, it feels so easy. Too easy, you know? She has all the qualifications of a person who murders out of jealousy, right? The bit about how she’s always been in love with Cleo. The fact that no one believed her when she said she saw Doug with another woman. Her nasty temper and rude behavior, plus the call at the club. They all make two plus two equal four, but regardless, the math just doesn’t feel right. How about you? What do you think?”
“I think you’re right. It’s too easy. Indeed, all the pieces of the puzzle are there. Yet, they feel terribly wrong.”
When we reached the car, Win opened my door for me and I hopped in. When he got in, too, I asked, “How about Linda? I mean, she’s the only one who was awake at that hour, right? Maybe she’s the guilty party. Like Luis said, no one could see the face of the person wearing the hoodie in the video, right? Why couldn’t it have been Linda?”
Win nodded as he pulled out and headed toward home. “There is always that possibility, Dove, but her sincerity, her openness, makes me doubt she’s our answer. Again, almost too simplified.”
Yeah. She didn’t feel right to me either. Still… “But maybe in this case, the obvious suspect is the obvious killer? I don’t think we’ve encountered one right under our noses in that way.”
“That’s quite true, beloved. However, my gut says something different.”
I sighed, inhaling the warm air of the car. “Mine too. So that leaves us with an outside source. Maybe someone who followed him here from Seattle? We need to look up Marie, and maybe some of his bandmembers, and ask some questions because we’re on a fast train to nowhere and Cleo’s sitting in a jail cell as we speak. I hate that, Win.”
Luis had shot us a text that he wasn’t able to get a bail hearing until at the earliest, tomorrow. That left poor Cleo in county jail overnight.
Win’s jaw clenched and tightened, the muscles flexing. “As do I, Dove. As do I.”
His words made me stop and wonder about his attachment to this case. He was always invested, but he felt really invested in this one, and I was curious to know why.
Or maybe it was just me.
But I’d ask later.
For now, I needed to focus on figuring out how to get Cleo out of this mess.
Pronto.
“Have I told you how lovely you are in that dress, Dove?” Win asked as he helped me out of the car at the entrance to the country club.
I bat my false eyelashes at him and straightened his bowtie. “You did, and thank you.” I curtsied with a grin, spreading the skirt of my pleated Halston gown to reveal a slit that showed a little leg. “Did I tell you how much I nabbed this 1970s treasure for? It was a total steal at only a hundred and fifty bucks. Even back in the day, it normally retailed for almost three thousand dollars.”
Win kissed my fingertips before raising a commanding hand to summon the valet. “Ah, my little bargain huntress, ever on the lookout for a steal.”
“You’d better believe it.” I smoothed down my dress, making sure I was still taped into the plunging neckline in all the right places.
Apparently, one night a week, the country club had a live band and all the women dressed in their finest evening gowns and the men in their tuxes.
Win, of course, looked exactly how I’m sure most people think a spy looks. Dashing, debonair, a little sexy-dangerous in his tux, and I knew I’d be the envy of all the country club women.
I admit, as Win summoned the valet and the poor boy tripped over himself to take the keys for the car as Win handed him a crisp bill in an outrageous denomination and asked the fresh-faced young man that he treat his pride and joy with care, my nerves were getting the better of me.
First of all, we didn’t have a membership. Secondly, all the women who used to turn their noses up at my mother attended gatherings just like this. When they saw one-time lower-middle-class Stevie Cartwright, in her vintage Halston gown, show up and demand to be let in, eyebrows would raise.
But Win gripped my hand and led me up the wide stone staircase to the even wider veranda.
Still, I hesitated as I looked inside the enormous mansion known as the Eb Falls Country Club, my mouth suddenly going dry and my feet frigid in my strappy silver heels.
“Dove?”
I swallowed. “Maybe I should let you do this and I’ll wait in the car? I mean, we don’t belong to this club, even if you look like you do. All those people in there know I don’t belong here.”
Dang, all my old insecurities were rising from the dead to haunt me.
Win pulled me to his side, brushing his cheek against mine, and whispered, “I say you belong with me, beloved—always. Whether you’re in a fancy designer gown or sweats and an old flannel shirt. You’re far classier and sophisticated than anyone here. Now, help me fake it until we make it, yes? I don’t want to look a fool with such a beautiful woman in such a stunning bargain dress on my arm.”
I grinned at him as tears stung my eyes. No matter what, he was always there, supportive and attuned to my every insecurity.
“I love you.”
He smiled indulgently, the thrill of pretending to play a part in his eyes. “And I you. Now come, we have a murder to solve with a bunch of overblown wankers with too much money and not enough sense.”
He always made me feel better. Always.
I smiled up at him. “Then an evening of overblown wankers, it is.”
Chapter 14
As we entered the Eb Falls Country Club, it felt a bit smaller than it had on that school field trip so long ago. Yet, it was no less grand and no less fancy.
Women floated about in dresses by designers I recognized, but for one or two, leaving me feeling much better about the dress I’d chosen. Even if it was vintage, it said something to this crowd of snobs—it said Stevie Cartwright’s bank account is as big as yours now.
So take that.
Ugh.
I chided my thoughts. That was petty. I’d never before used money as a sign of worth. But amidst all these people who’d once frowned upon my Goth years and my incredibly open and laid-back mother, it secretly felt good to have some do-re-mi.
Turning my attention to the magnificent entry with a sweeping marble staircase and a foyer the size of a small football field, I forced myself to breath.
The soft lighting throughout the mansion gave it an almost ethereal look, heavy iron sconces on the walls glowed, and the chandelier in the main ballroom twinkled as though someone had polished the gorgeous crystals.
People milled about, smiling and chatting, and a happy jazz tune played from a band in the ballroom. The walls were covered in stately portraits of long-since-passed country club contributors, along with plenty of actual photographs from throughout the ensuing years.
I remember seeing this wall when we came on that field trip and being afraid of the eyes of the people in the painted portraits. It felt as though they were watching me. Now I ran my finger along the board and batten wood without any fear at all as I held Win’s arm.
Waiters zipped in and out of the crowd with ease, offering up hors d’oeuvres on silver platters, and these weren’t your typical appetizers. Not a weenie in a blanket in sight.
Win swept into the country club as though he’d always been a member, and wouldn’t you know, not a single soul questioned us.
One of the waiters stopped by and offered us what I thought was an oddly covered olive. Thank gravy. I was starving. I took the small napkin offered and grabbed one, popping the warm olive in my mouth.
And then I gagged and swiped at my tongue, forgetting I was at a hoity-toity party. “What the feck is that? It tastes l
ike vomit and wildebeest sweat. Gak!”
I was in the process of spitting it into my napkin and making all sorts of obscene sounds of disgust when I heard a cultured voice call out, “Stevie Cartwright, is that you?”
I whipped around, a piece of whatever that toxic garbage disguised as a swanky appetizer was, falling to the floor at my feet, to find Deborah (pronounced Deb-or-ah, and don’t you forget it) Cheshire.
Deborah had been the bane of my childhood. From fifth grade to ninth, when I’d ditched carpool for a bike I bought secondhand, just to get away from her, she’d tortured me with her innuendo.
Everything from my ripped backpack that Belfry had sewn a million times because my mother couldn’t afford a new one, to the Goth period I went through when black lipstick and raccoon eyes were my constant—my defense against the world—she’d never failed to remind me I was less than.
I dreaded getting into her ritzy black Cadillac’s cavernous backseat every day for carpool while her daughter Kiara giggled with the popular girls. Most especially on the days my mother missed her turn due to oversleeping.
That was when her judgment was at its fiercest. I would try my best to shrink into the luxurious seats and make myself as small as possible while Deborah Cheshire gave me a critical once-over from the rearview mirror—much the way she was doing now.
But tonight? Tonight, I turned the tables and assessed her right back in her Oscar de la Renta sequined ball gown in black with diaphanous sleeves and décolletage.
Of course it was gorgeous and worth about twelve thousand smackeroos, but I wasn’t going to let that get the best of me.
I gave her the exact once-over she’d given me. Stopping when I met her dark green eyes, made up in smoky fashion.
“Good eye! It sure is,” I said, smiling brightly, that gak-worthy appetizer clinging to my teeth’s crevices.
She grabbed my hand and spun me around with a smug smile, my foot crushing the food that had fallen from my mouth. I used to think she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my small world. Now she looked overdone. Too much makeup, too many lip injections, too much of everything money can buy.
Where There's A Witch, There's A Way (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 13) Page 13