by Gayle Trent
“So do I,” I replied.
As we piled into the car, I said, “I’ve got to call Ben as soon as I get home.”
“Let me just drop you off at his place,” Myra said. “You need to do this kind of making up in person instead of over the phone.”
“She’s right,” Juanita said. “He needs to see the sincerity in your eyes.”
“But what if he didn’t go home? What if he went back to the office or somewhere else?” I asked.
“Well, I won’t leave you at his house if there’s no one home,” Myra said. “Gee whiz, it’s January. Do you think I’d leave you stranded?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just nervous. That’s all.”
“You should be nervous,” China said.
“Thanks,” I said. “That helped.”
She laughed softly. “Sorry. I’m only thinking I’d be nervous too if I had to explain to one man why another was kissing me in front of a room full of people as if he were shipping off to war tomorrow. And that declaration of love might have been a joke, but the kiss wasn’t.”
“Amen,” Myra said with a sigh. “That was a great concert, don’t y’all think? That Elvis I danced with—his real name is Cecil—he asked for my phone number. I think we might be going to lunch tomorrow.”
“Be careful,” said Juanita. “These men travel a lot. He might break your heart. He could have a woman in every town.”
“You’re a good one to talk,” Myra said. “What about Aaron? He’s an Elvis. Aren’t you worried he’ll break your heart?”
“Yes,” Juanita said. “But at least he lives here in Brea Ridge. Plus, he has a job here at home so he does not go out of town as much as the others.”
“Not every man who travels will roam,” Myra said. “My Carl had to travel for his job fairly often, but he never strayed outside the boundaries of our marriage.”
“Carl was a good man,” China said.
“Not all men are,” said Juanita.
We arrived at Ben’s house, and Myra eased into the driveway. There were lights on in the house, and his Jeep was parked out front.
“Would you like us to wait?” China asked.
“Of course we’re not waiting,” Myra said. “If we leave her here, he’ll have to take her home. He won’t be able to bull up and not talk to her if he has to drive her home.”
“What was that talk about not leaving me stranded?” I asked. “What if Ben refuses to drive me home?”
“He won’t,” Myra said. “He’s a gentleman.”
Hoping she was right, I got out of the car and walked hesitantly to the door. I rang the doorbell and could hear Sally, Ben’s golden retriever, barking. I looked over my shoulder to see Myra backing the Buick out of the driveway. She, China, and Juanita waved, and then they left me standing there on Ben’s doorstep. I’d been dropped. Now I knew—at least in some small way—how my poor cat Sparrow must have felt.
I spotted a patrol car moving slowly down the road behind Myra’s car. It had been following us.
Ben didn’t come to the door right away, so I rang the bell again. The porch light came on, making me squint against the sudden brightness. Ben opened the door. He stood there shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans. His curly, dark brown hair was wet. His well-defined chest and abs were glistening. He looked good. My throat went dry.
Sally, tail wagging a hundred miles an hour, tried to nudge around Ben to tell me “hello” but he wouldn’t let her.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked me.
“I came to explain about the concert,” I said. “About Scottie. It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It looked like he was making out with you onstage.”
“Right. That’s how he wanted it to look,” I said.
“Then he did an excellent job,” Ben said. “He got precisely the effect he was going for.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “It was an act. He chose me because we’d already met. If it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been someone else.”
“But it was you,” Ben said.
“Do I have to stand out here in the cold while we discuss this?” I asked. “You left the concert angry at me, and I’m here to tell you there’s nothing to be angry about.”
“Put yourself in my shoes. If you showed up somewhere unexpectedly and found some woman kissing me, how would you feel?” Ben asked.
“I’d feel horrible,” I said. “But I’d give you a chance to explain.”
“Explain what, Daphne? How do you explain standing on a stage in front of all those people kissing a man who has just declared his love for you?”
“I wasn’t kissing him. He was kissing me.”
“You weren’t pushing him away,” Ben said.
“Because it was an act. He whispered as much to me as he pulled me to the stage. He’s a performer, Ben. It didn’t mean a thing. It was a joke.”
“It wasn’t a joke to me. I need to get to sleep; I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow. Good night, Daphne.”
I sighed. “Good night.” I turned and started walking down the driveway. I had my cell phone in my purse. I’d call Myra or Jason, Violet’s husband, to come and get me if I had to.
“Wait!” Ben called. “Where’s your car?”
“At home!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Myra dropped me off here.”
“Come back here. I’ll take you home.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
With a growl of frustration, he stormed out the door and down the driveway, flung me over his shoulder, and took me back up to the house. I had to almost literally bite my tongue to keep from asking if every man in Brea Ridge considered me his own personal rag doll tonight.
“Sit down until I go in here and get on a shirt and some shoes,” he said. “Then I’ll drive you home.”
“I can call Myra,” I said.
His response was to slam a door.
Darned if I was going to wait, and darned if I was going to call anyone I knew and have them witness my humiliation. I left Ben’s house and began walking. The patrolman was either making another pass, or someone else was tailing Myra. I flagged him down. It was Officer Kendall.
“Hi,” I said. “Could you please give me a ride home?”
“Get in.”
“Why have you been following Myra and me?” I asked as I buckled the seat belt. “By the way, being up here in front with you is way better than getting stuffed in the back.”
“I imagine so,” Officer Kendall said. He put the car in gear and headed in the direction of my house.
“Would you mind telling me?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Who says I’ve been following anyone?”
“Well, I’m not saying it’s you in particular, but I have seen more law enforcement vehicles on the road since Friday night.”
“Just keeping the town safe, ma’am,” he said with a grin.
“You don’t really think Myra and I had anything to do with Dr. Bainsworth’s death, do you?”
“You tell me,” Officer Kendall said.
“Okay, then no, we unequivocally did not.” I watched his face, but his expression didn’t change. “How can I make you believe me?”
“Let me do my job. If you’re innocent, you have nothing to hide, right?”
I sighed.
He pulled into my driveway, and I got out of the car. “Thank you for the ride. Have a safe evening.”
“You too,” he said.
He waited until I unlocked the door, got inside, and turned on the lights before he left. I guess that was thoughtful. While I despised the notion of being watched, I had to admit it was convenient that Officer Kendall had been tailing me tonight. I wondered if his partner, Officer Halligan, had Myra duty.
I went to the bedroom and kicked off my shoes before returning to the kitchen. The phone was ringing. I knew without even looking at the caller ID that it was Ben. I turned the ringer off. I’d tried to explain; he’d blown
me off, and I didn’t want to deal with it anymore tonight.
I needed comfort. I needed decaf café au lait and chocolate chip cookies. Fortunately, I had chocolate chip cookies in the freezer. All I had to do was thaw them in the microwave for a few seconds. While the café au lait was brewing, I took the cookies out of the freezer.
As I began to warm the cookies, the doorbell rang. I went to the door and turned on the porch light. It was Scottie. I opened the door, keeping the locked storm door between us. It was late, this guy was practically a stranger, and I was tired.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m here to apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” I said. “Have a good night.”
“Um . . . can’t I come in?” he asked.
“Not tonight, but I appreciate your coming by to tell me you’re sorry.”
“All right.” He hesitated. “Do you want me to call . . . what’s his name? Ben?”
I shook my head. “No need.”
“Really? He looked pretty steamed when he left the banquet hall.”
“He’s fine,” I said.
“Well . . . see you tomorrow then?” Scottie took a step back but looked at me to make sure I hadn’t changed my mind about his coming in.
“See you.” I closed the door.
After he left, I took my cookies and café au lait and curled up on the sofa. I decided I hadn’t ever really examined my feelings for Ben. Of course, now it looked like I might never have to. But I wondered if I’d begun dating Ben because he had seemed like such a safe man after my stormy relationship with Todd. After all, this past Friday night wasn’t the first I’d spent either alone or with Myra because Ben was working late or attending some newspaper-related function or was otherwise too busy to see me. Maybe he wasn’t that into me. Maybe this incident with Scottie simply gave Ben an excuse to end our so-called relationship.
It could be that I was destined to be alone. I had to admit, though, being by myself was much better than being with Todd had ever been. When I was living in that marriage, I’d never felt as alone in my entire life.
My thoughts drifted back to Dr. Bainsworth and what had been said about him in the car. When Myra had asked Juanita why she’d changed dentists, she’d seemed terribly uncomfortable. Could Juanita have been one of Dr. Bainsworth’s numerous conquests? Is that why she’d switched dentists? And was that why she was so adamantly convinced that all men cheat? I couldn’t imagine gentle little Juanita bashing a man’s head in, but I guess stranger things have happened.
I definitely had to get together with Myra tomorrow. Hopefully, after her lunch with Elvis/Cecil, she and I could meet and try to figure out who might have had it in for Dr. Bainsworth. We needed to get this investigation under way. No offense to Officers Kendall and Halligan, but I wasn’t very confident in their abilities.
CHAPTER
Six
WHEN I got up Monday morning, I looked like death on a cracker. More specifically, I looked as if I’d tossed and turned all night feeling sorry for myself. This was mainly because I’d tossed and turned all night feeling sorry for myself. It was a good thing that I’d adamantly studied Bobbi Brown’s makeup book shortly before my thirty-eighth birthday and knew all about using yellow-based corrector and only lining your upper lids to help camouflage dark under-eye circles. I know most women freak over turning forty rather than thirty-eight, but I was pretty much over the age thing by the time I turned forty. It’s probably because I was dealing with arrest warrants and trials by jury as my fortieth birthday approached.
I followed the memorized makeup instructions and then peered into the mirror. “Well, now what, Bobbi?” I asked, as if the famous makeup artist would magically appear and fix the rest of my face.
She didn’t. Left to my own devices, I did the best I could—added some lipstick and mascara—and then shuffled into the kitchen. While the coffee was brewing, I stepped outside to get the morning paper. The front-page headline was POLICE STILL STUMPED OVER DENTIST’S MURDER. The article went on to say that they were aggressively pursuing all leads. There was no mention of the fact that police were following Myra and me around all over town and acting as interim taxis when necessary.
The bottom-right corner of the front page showed a photo from last night’s concert with the header ELVIS INVASION LEAVES BREA RIDGE “ALL SHOOK UP.” I inwardly groaned. I’d had my fill of the concert—thank-you-very-much—so I didn’t read the article, but I did check the byline. The article had been written by Suzanna Leonard, a newbie who was interning at the paper while studying journalism at one of the nearby colleges. Most of the work she was given was fluff pieces.
I thumbed through the rest of the paper before tossing it in the recycle bin. It was time to get to work.
I didn’t feel like working on the Cadillac cake today. I was too tired and irritable to do something that required that much thought and precision. I decided to make the brownies and cookies to put onto the party trays I was preparing for the Save-A-Buck. Once the house smelled like chocolate, maybe I’d start feeling better.
I got out my favorite blue mixing bowl and my chewy chocolate fudge brownie recipe. I put on my headset before spraying the bottom of three brownie pans with baking spray. I intended to triple the recipe in order to have enough brownies for all five party trays.
The phone rang, and I stopped spraying midair. Should I sound chipper, contrite, pleasant, professional . . . ? I went with professional, since the caller might not be Ben after all. It turned out to be a wise choice. It was Myra.
“Good morning, honey,” she said. “How did things go with Ben last night?”
“Things went pretty much right out the window,” I said. “We had a big argument and haven’t spoken since. I even hitched a ride home with Officer Kendall, who seemed to be following us around.”
“Yeah, I spotted Halligan tailing me when I dropped China and Juanita off at your house to pick up their cars,” she said. “Didn’t Ben even call to find out how you got home?”
“He called a couple times, but I didn’t answer, and he didn’t leave a message. Maybe he saw the squad car taking me away. He wasn’t concerned enough to drive over here and see for himself that I got home okay.”
“That’s all right,” Myra said confidently. “That means he’s good and jealous. If he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t be jealous.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there,” I said.
“I know I do. Oh, honey.”
My lips curled into a smile. When Myra said oh, honey, you could count on getting a good story. I sat down on a stool at the island.
Myra continued. “One time me and Carl went to a Valentine’s Day dance at the Moose lodge. Well, I looked as pretty as a picture . . . had on a sparkly red dress with an A-line skirt and a white crinoline underneath so that when we danced I could spin around and show my crinoline instead of my butt—I’d done practiced it in front of the mirror and everything.”
“Good thinking,” I said.
“I know. I’d thought of everything,” she said. “Anyway, Carl didn’t have any reason whatsoever to have a straying eye that night, but he did. That old Mary Breedlove was there with a hot-pink minidress on that was cut down nearly to her belly button. While I was worried about people seeing my butt, she’d apparently been worried that people wouldn’t see hers . . . along with everything else the good Lord gave her. And one of the things He’d given her was apparently a push-up bra, because otherwise her boobs would’ve been down there at her belly button with the neckline of that dress.”
I giggled. I had no clue who Mary Breedlove was, but Myra was obviously still mad at her and at Carl for whatever indiscretion he’d made, even though he’d been dead for five years.
“Well, you will absolutely not believe what Carl Jenkins did,” Myra said. “He asked that trollop to dance! Oh, yes! It wasn’t bad enough for him to ogle her, he actually asked her to dance. And, of course, she did. Old home-wrecking hussy.”
“So, what
did you do?” I asked.
“I got up and sashayed over to Will Pennington. He’d always had a thing for me, and his wife was dead. He’d showed up at the Moose lodge to look for love in all the wrong places, I reckon, so why Mary didn’t set her cap for him instead of my Carl is beyond me. ‘Will,’ I said, ‘I’d like for you to take me home, please.’ Well, his eyes lit up like . . . like . . . like two big porch lights, and we left.”
Like two big porch lights? Oh well, no one could accuse Myra of using too many clichés. “You didn’t tell Carl you were leaving?” I asked.
“No, indeed, I did not tell Carl,” she said.
“What did he say when he got home?” I asked.
“I don’t know, because I wasn’t there.”
“You weren’t there?” I asked. “You were actually out with Will?”
“Yes, I was. Once we got in the car, I said, ‘Will, I’d really rather not go home just yet. Why don’t we go see a movie?’ And that’s what we did. In fact, we saw a double feature,” Myra said.
“Are you kidding? What time did you get home?”
“About one in the morning,” she said.
“Was Carl still up or had he gone to bed?” I asked. Or had he left home? was what I was really wondering.
“Oh, yeah, he was up,” Myra said. “He was sitting there in his recliner as mad as an old one-horned bull. I asked him if he and Mary Breedlove had enjoyed themselves at the dance. He said he’d felt like a fool when he came back to our table and I was gone. I said, ‘You looked like one out on the dance floor with that trashy Mary. It’s a wonder your eyes didn’t pop plumb out of your head and into that push-up bra of hers.’ ‘What about you?’ he asked me. ‘One of the—’ Mooses . . . moosers . . . meese . . . ?”
“Lodge members,” I suggested.
“Yeah, one of them. They’d told him I’d gone off with Will Pennington. At first, Carl figured I’d just gone out into the parking lot to spite him—although he’d known me plenty long enough to know I can spite a whole lot better than that—so he came outside and looked around for a while. Then he drove around town looking for us. He even drove over to Will Pennington’s house!”