Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 02 - Sex, Lies, and Snickerdoodles

by Wendy Delaney

  Gram’s expression softened. “No, but Barry should be. If you really want a future with him, you have to be totally honest with one another.”

  My mother’s eyes glistened with tears. “I know.”

  “Not that I’m suggesting that he’s marrying you for your money, but if you want this one to last, it’s only fair that he knows the truth,” Gram said.

  Marietta took a swipe at the teardrop cutting through the layers of powder on her cheek and looked down at her fingers in horror. “Oh, hell! I’m ruining my makeup and Barry’s coming to take me to dinner any minute.”

  Shaking her head, Gram heaved a sigh as my mother dashed upstairs. “I hope I’m not beating the heck out of this piece of meat just for my benefit.”

  “I don’t have other plans.” At least not yet.

  I went to the front window to see if Steve’s Crown Victoria was in his driveway and it was. “Since you have enough for three, want me to ask Steve to join us?”

  It would give me a good excuse to talk to him, maybe even get a hug—something that had been in short supply the last couple of days during my crampy hiatus from his bedroom.

  Gram locked onto my gaze. “The same advice I gave your mother goes for you, you know.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know what I mean. As in being open and honest.”

  Obviously Gram didn’t understand the sex buddy rules after years of just being buddy-buddy, and I wasn’t about to explain them to her.

  She waved me toward the door. “That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

  And when Steve came over it had better stay that way.

  “Hey,” I said to Steve when he opened his front door.

  The laugh lines edging his eyes crinkled as he looked me over. “I don’t see a bag in your hand. What, no bribe? And they’ve been so effective, too.”

  “Very funny. Keep it up and I won’t set a place for you for dinner.”

  “I’ve got a meeting, so I’ll have to pass,” he said, shutting the door behind me. “But you can keep me company for a few minutes until I have to leave.”

  I followed him into his sunny yellow kitchen where the chicken-themed wallpaper never failed to remind me of his mother’s love of French country decor and the cookies she’d dole out to us from her red and white ceramic rooster.

  He pulled a bottle of water from his refrigerator. “Want one?”

  I still felt dehydrated from last night’s overindulgence so I sat at his kitchen table and took him up on his offer. “What kind of meeting?”

  “PTA. The safety committee at Merritt Elementary is launching a new campaign and asked me to say a few words.”

  Not a shocker that a predominantly female committee would invite a speaker who was easy on the eyes to attract attendees to the Parent-Teacher meeting.

  “Makes sense. It’s a new school year and I’m sure they want to start it off right.” And all the better that he was wearing a Port Merritt PD polo that showed off his tanned biceps.

  Steve swallowed half his bottle in four big gulps and nodded. “With a focus on accident prevention on and off school grounds.”

  Off school grounds? Around here that typically meant youth sports and water safety.

  “You could talk about the recent drowning,” I said, watching his reaction.

  “I could, but I won’t.” He leaned against his kitchen counter. “And I really don’t want that to be all we talk about.”

  Message received loud and clear. “Okay, if you’d like a change of subject, want to hear about the latest fiasco my mother is getting involved in?”

  His brows drew together. “Now what?”

  “Lance Greenwood wants her to invest in a performing arts center venture that he’s trying to get off the ground.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in Port Merritt.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “Yeah, and she can’t afford that right now.”

  Steve held my gaze for several silent seconds. “I know her movie career isn’t what it used to be, but what aren’t you telling me?”

  “She’s having some financial problems.” I debated about repeating what I’d heard on the way to Port Townsend. “I think her business manager steered her toward some bad investments. Don’t let on that you know anything about it though. She’s already not happy that Gram told me.”

  “The last thing I need is for your mother to be on my case.” He grinned. “I already have enough trouble from her daughter.”

  “But I’m a good kind of trouble, right?”

  He crossed the kitchen and pulled me into his arms. “Most of the time.”

  I whacked him on the back of the head.

  “Ow! I said most.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Resting my head against his chest, I breathed in his clean scent. “After your meeting you should come over for dessert.”

  “Chow Mein, I’d rather have you over at my house.”

  Whoa! That wasn’t the kind of dessert I had in mind. “I’m a little indisposed right now.”

  He pushed me back to arm’s length. “Huh?”

  “You know.” I gave him a look, hoping I wouldn’t have to spell it out.

  “Oh.” His eyes darkened as they held mine. “I’m sure there’s something else we could do.”

  “I’m sure we can think of something.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “My money’s on Russell taking a tumble into the drink after he was poisoned,” Lucille said as she ladled oatmeal into a cereal bowl, filling Stanley’s usual Friday morning breakfast order. “The stuff’s probably pretty easy to buy around here.”

  “Very easy.” Not that I was completely diving feet first into the next phase of Lucille’s Fatal Attraction theory, but if someone on another boat didn’t cause Russell’s death, the notion of him needing to turn off his engines so he could run to the railing and hurl wasn’t inconceivable.

  “Easy to use, too.” I glanced at the utility closet near the rear door, where my great-uncle Duke stored a box of rat poison. Problems of a rodential nature were commonplace everywhere there was food or farming—and we had both in plentiful supply in Chimacam County. “Definitely could incapacitate someone.”

  Standing at the grill, Duke reached for an egg and arched a furry eyebrow at me. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

  “It’s way too late for that, old man,” Lucille said with an evil grin as she squeaked past him.

  He blew out a breath. “Swell.”

  I patted his beefy shoulder. “Just remember, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  “With that lunatic I should be strong as an ox.” He shook his head. “I swear she’s obsessed.”

  I didn’t want to admit that Lucille wasn’t the only one.

  Duke cracked the egg on the grill. “We need to get that funeral over and done with. That Falco boy is all anybody’s talkin’ about.”

  “The funeral’s tomorrow afternoon. You going?”

  “Nah, covering for Hector. He was friends with the family back in his deckhand days.” Duke flipped two bubbling pancakes and then pointed at me with his spatula. “I should tell him to keep an eye on you and Luce. Make sure you two reprobates don’t get into any trouble.”

  The bell hanging over Duke’s Main Street entrance jingled, and I looked through the window over the grill to see that it had signaled Steve’s arrival. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Especially since I had a cop who’d already elected himself to that job. “Really, it’s a funeral service. What kind of trouble could we possibly get into?”

  He plated the pancakes. “Does a bear shit in the woods? Order up!”

  “Nice vote of confidence.” I filled another cereal bowl with oatmeal and pasted a smile on my face as I carried my breakfast to the counter and slid onto the stool next to Steve. “Good morning!”

  “Is it a good morning? Let’s see …” Leaning in he took me by the chin.

  I’d been up since around four whic
h had given me plenty of time to exfoliate my skin and apply liberal quantities of Marietta’s makeup to clog it back up again, plus I’d straightened my hair, so I thought I had a chance of holding up to close inspection—something my ego needed after yesterday.

  “… looks good to me,” he said softly, his breath warm on my face, igniting a bonfire under my libido that he promptly extinguished when he tweaked my nose like I was his kid sister. “Could be even better if you’d get more than three hours of sleep a night.”

  “Yeah? Take that up with the woman playing Goldilocks in my bed.”

  “I hear there’s a pretty nice bed in the house across the street from you. You might want to try it sometime instead of running home at the stroke of midnight like you’ve got a curfew.”

  This conversation was careening down a dangerous path. With Lucille and her radar ears heading our way it would become a very public path if I didn’t clue him in and pronto. “Oh, good. Lucille’s coming with coffee.”

  He winked. “You could even get lucky …”

  I clenched my teeth. “Keep it up if you want that coffee on your lap.”

  “… and get a good night’s sleep for a change.”

  Lucille plopped two white porcelain cups in front of us. “Who can talk about sleep at a time like this?”

  I forced a smile at Steve. “Yeah!”

  “Did you tell him about our theory?” she asked while she filled our cups with steaming, dark as coal tar java.

  He reached for a creamer. “We have a theory?”

  I shrugged and passed him another creamer from the bowl in front of me. He was going to need it. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear it.” Very sure.

  “I do,” Stanley said with a spoonful of oatmeal inches from his mouth.

  Steve smiled, stirring his coffee. “You heard the man. What have you got?”

  Setting down the carafe Lucille leaned in on her elbows and lowered her volume to a stage whisper. “Two words—Fatal Attraction.”

  Stanley wrinkled his nose, his thick glasses bobbing up and down. “I don’t get it. Somebody wanna translate?”

  While Steve gave his breakfast order to Lucille, I gave an abbreviated version of the movie to Stanley, who’d never seen it.

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” he said. “Glenda Close—”

  “Glenn,” Steve and I corrected him in unison.

  Stanley waved a liver-spotted hand at us. “Whatever her name is—she bumps off the family pet as a warning to the guy she had the affair with.”

  “Exactly.” Lucille’s eyes widened. “She’s showing him that he messed with the wrong woman—the same message delivered by the one who slashed Russell Falco’s tires.”

  Stanley shook his head. “So the moral of the story is that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

  “Damned straight,” she said. “Which is why it’s so obvious that someone he two-timed bumped him off.”

  Steve sipped his coffee. “Uh-huh.”

  “Think about it.” Lucille pointed at me. “You said he never called the cops about the damage to his truck.”

  Stone-faced, Steve shot me an accusatory sideways glance.

  I swallowed the lump of oatmeal in my throat. “I may have mentioned it.” Even though I was probably supposed to have kept that little tidbit to myself.

  Lucille reached behind her for the carafe of decaf. “Instead, Russell confronts her—maybe looks her up Friday night after work. He doesn’t want any more trouble. He just wants to talk. She makes them tea,” she said, refilling Stanley’s cup. “A special blend that has a little something extra in it. He tells her that he can’t stay and she gives him a thermos of tea for later that night. Then on his way home, Russell is a little chilled in the cool night air and remembers about the tea. Pretty soon he starts feeling woozy and …” Lucille slapped her hand to the counter. “Bam! He hits his head as he falls off his boat, and Fred Wixey finds him the next morning.”

  “That’s quite the detailed theory the two of you came up with,” Steve deadpanned.

  “Her version is a little more detailed than mine,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Order up!” Duke barked.

  Beaming, Lucille ignored my great-uncle, who was boring a hole into the back of her head with his glare. “I know. Pretty good, huh?”

  “Very … imaginative.” Steve pointed at the plate of bacon and eggs getting cold on the counter in front of Duke. “If you’re done, may I eat now?”

  Lucille puckered. “Sure, don’t take this seriously.” She squeaked back with the plate and spun it in front of him like a blackjack dealer. “I’m sure Russell didn’t take his ex-girlfriend very seriously and look what happened to him.”

  Steve bit into a strip of bacon. “I always give everything you tell me all the consideration it deserves.”

  “Yeah, right,” she grumbled, topping off our coffee cups. “Then consider this—you’d better be at that funeral tomorrow.”

  Steve reached for another creamer. “Why’s that?”

  “She’ll be there.”

  Stanley frowned. “Who? Our Glenda?”

  Lucille nodded. “Someone that crazy about him won’t be able to resist seeing him one last time.”

  Pushing away my empty oatmeal bowl, I watched as Lucille squeaked away to make the rounds with the coffee pot. “She might have a point.”

  Steve shook his head as he reached for his cup. “You need to stop eating here. She’s rubbing off on you.”

  “No, really. If there’s a chance that Russell’s death wasn’t an accident, his killer could be there tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh. Are you going?”

  Was he kidding? I wouldn’t miss it. “Yep.”

  “Then I’m going.”

  Awwwww. I couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t have to go with me, but I’m glad that you are.”

  “It’s not a date. It’s more like security.”

  I dropped the smile. “I don’t need a security detail.”

  “Between you and your co-conspiracy theorist I’m sure there will be plenty of other women there who will.”

  * * *

  Nine hours later, I was on my way home from the courthouse when I got stuck at the stoplight at 2nd Street and saw a blue and white truck turn right on Main. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give the truck traffic in town a second glance, but this one had a leaky faucet on the side panel and Pete Lackey at the wheel.

  Pete may have moved off my suspect list, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have valuable information he could provide, particularly now that I knew he’d been out on the water the early morning of Russell Falco’s death. All I had to do was win his trust so he’d open up to me.

  Might be easier said than done since the last time I saw him he slammed a door in my face, but like my mother said, nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least my venture wouldn’t cost me anything but time.

  Once I got a green light I stayed back several car lengths so it wouldn’t be too obvious that I was following him. Pete didn’t turn on 5th to head to his shop nor did he take the left on Morton Road. Fine by me. Joyce’s presence would only add stress to an already stressful situation for her husband, and none of us needed that.

  After he turned onto 42nd Street, I followed him up the hill and then parked in front of his mother’s house less than a minute later.

  He scowled as I walked up the driveway. “I swear every time I drive through town you’re following me.”

  Dang, I didn’t think I was that obvious.

  “Sorry, I saw your truck as I was heading home and thought this might be a good time to follow up on a couple of things.”

  He turned his back on me and headed for the front door. “I’m busy.”

  “I’m sure you are, but I really need to speak with you about when you went out on your boat that night.”

  Slowly exhaling as if I’d punched through the defensive bubble wrap he’d been surrounding himself with, Pete swung the door open. “Come
on. Let’s get this over with.”

  Not exactly a gracious welcome, but I was happy to take what I could get.

  I followed Pete into what appeared to be a newly remodeled kitchen with granite countertops and a few manufacturer’s labels still affixed to the oak cabinets. “Wow, this is nice. Did you do all this yourself?” Because if Pete was this kind of quality craftsman, why on earth would Joyce hire Russell for her odd jobs?

  Except, of course, to have a hunky guy in her house.

  “I hung the cabinets, but I traded labor with a couple of my buddies for everything else in here.” He pointed to a hardback wooden chair at a battered maple table that looked older than the two of us put together. From the sixties decor I saw in the adjacent family room, I assumed it was a leftover from his mom.

  “Let’s get to why you’re here,” he said.

  “Fine. In a debriefing with the police I learned you were out on your fishing boat early Saturday morning.” Not that Steve would call the few crumbs of information he fed me a debriefing, but I was trusting that I was the only one in the room who possessed an accurate bullshit meter.

  Pete slumped into the chair across from me. “Yeah.”

  “Would you please tell me what you saw once you launched your boat? Lights, other boats on the water, anything that caught your eye.”

  He frowned, his finger tracing a scratch in the table top. “I saw Falco’s running lights, but instead of disappearing around the bend to the marina, I kept seeing them. That’s what made me think he wasn’t moving. I wanted to see him gone …” He looked up, cringing. “That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Especially since it had been the most honest emotion I’d ever gotten out of the guy.

  “I just wanted him to get back to the marina and out of my sight.”

  “Okay, as you got closer to the Lucky Charm did you see any other boats in the area? Any other running lights? Anything in the distance?”

  “I saw a thirty-two … maybe a thirty-four-foot cruiser heading into the marina around the same time I came alongside Falco’s boat. Didn’t get a good look at the kid at the wheel, but he struck me as being pretty young.”

  Which was as I’d expected. “Anything besides the cruiser?”