by Gayle Trent
Angela had a modest home between Brea Ridge and Abingdon. It was far enough out in the country to afford the woman some privacy, but it wasn’t so far from civilization—translation, shopping—to be inconvenient. The house itself was a split-level with vaulted ceilings. There was beige carpet throughout—or at least as far as I could see—and the walls were ecru. The neutral color scheme might have been boring if not for the splashes of color and designer touches in evidence. An overstuffed sofa in a bold yellow fabric dominated the living room. Accent chairs in blue damask carried over the hint of blue in an Oriental rug occupying the center of the room.
I might have been mistaken in my estimation of the worth of the home’s furnishings, but they appeared expensive to me. And I didn’t get the feeling Angela Bainsworth was hurting for money.
Angela, a petite brunette with watchful green eyes, welcomed us into her living room and then went into the kitchen to get a coffee-and-tea tray. She placed the tray on the cherry table in front of the sofa. I had the feeling I’d seen her somewhere before.
“Daphne, would you like coffee or tea?” she asked.
I chose tea, Violet opted for coffee, and Angela didn’t take either one, which made me doubly anxious about spilling my tea on her Oriental rug.
I held my white china cup and saucer awkwardly. “I suppose Violet told you why I wanted to talk with you. The police seem to think I’m a person of interest in Dr. Bainsworth’s death since I was in his office that night. I’m trying to clear my name.”
“She did,” Angela said. “I’m sorry you’ve found yourself in such a predicament. How can I help?”
I glanced at Violet, who gave me a brief nod of encouragement.
“First of all, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “I know you and Dr. Bainsworth were divorcing, but you were his wife, and I’m sure you loved him once.”
Angela blinked. “Thank you. . . . That . . . that’s not what I expected you to say. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. It has been a trying few days. While I understand there were many people angry with Jim—including me—I can’t imagine anyone killing him.”
“I know his death comes as quite a shock. My friend Myra and I were the ones to discover his body. I had just spoken with him less than an hour before and made an emergency appointment with him for Myra, who was a patient of his. You have no idea why anyone would’ve broken into his office? Did he keep money or any other valuables there?”
She shook her head. “Any money received was deposited at the end of each day.”
“What about drugs?” Violet asked. “Dentists often prescribe painkillers, don’t they?”
“Naturally,” Angela said, “but he never even kept samples in his office. And Jim always kept his prescription pads locked in his desk.”
I frowned. “Then what could his attacker have been looking for?”
“I have no idea,” Angela said. “Maybe he or she wasn’t looking for anything except Jim. I mean I’ve heard of people breaking into dental offices for the nitrous oxide, but Jim didn’t even use gas anymore. His patients who preferred sedation dentistry went over to Dr. Farmer.”
I pursed my lips. “I know the police have asked you this already, but can you think of anyone—anyone at all—who might’ve wanted to harm Dr. Bainsworth?”
She scoffed. “I’ll tell you what I told them—interview the husbands of his female patients.”
“What about a hygienist named Jill?” I asked. “According to Bunni Wilson, this woman completely misunderstood Dr. Bainsworth’s kindness toward her and gave up everything for him. Bunni said Dr. Bainsworth had to fire her to make her leave him alone.”
Angela gaped. “Yeah, and if you’re looking to unload a piece of oceanfront Tennessee real estate, Bunni’s your buyer.”
Violet smiled slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Jim was having an affair with Jill. It was nothing serious to him, although I initiated divorce proceedings against him when I found out about it.” Angela lifted her shoulders. “I couldn’t stand the thought of him ever touching me again after he’d cheated on me.” She looked away. “I think Jill was in love with Jim, but the feeling wasn’t mutual, and she wound up paying dearly for her mistake.”
“I admire your ability to speak of her sympathetically,” I said. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t be glad the other woman got the shaft.”
“Oh, I never said that.” She took a deep breath. “At first, I was absolutely delighted to watch Jill Fisher’s life fall apart. But then I began to realize she and I weren’t all that different. He conned me, and he conned her.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And he devastated us both. In a way, I’ll be glad to get the funeral over with on Saturday so I can start getting on with my life . . . again.”
I realized where I’d seen Angela Bainsworth. She was the woman who’d been parked outside the restaurant this morning. “At least you have new ventures to look forward to, right?” I asked.
She tilted her head toward me. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you this morning at that abandoned restaurant that’s for sale downtown. I thought maybe you were planning to buy it, give it a makeover, and set up shop,” I said.
Angela began shaking her head. “No. That wasn’t me. I don’t know who you saw, but it definitely wasn’t me.”
“Oh,” I murmured. “My mistake.”
When Violet and I left, I noticed the silver BMW in the driveway. How likely could it be that the woman parked outside the abandoned restaurant this morning was a dead ringer for Angela Bainsworth and she had exactly the same type of car? But then if it had, in fact, been Angela, why would she try to hide the fact that she’d been there? Was it because she’d been with a boyfriend? Perhaps she didn’t want anyone to see her with him. I can imagine she’d have hidden her relationship while Dr. Bainsworth was still alive because their divorce wasn’t final. That way, as far as the judge was concerned, Angela would be the blameless victim in the divorce right up until the end. But why the secrecy now? Was it because Dr. Bainsworth was so recently deceased? Or was it because Angela had been having an affair as her husband had suspected, and Angela didn’t want that fact brought to light now?
“Wonder if the police have spoken with Jill Fisher and her ex-husband,” I said to Violet as we got into the car.
“See if Ben knows,” Violet said as she backed out of Angela’s driveway. “Even if he doesn’t, I’ll bet he can find out.”
I WAS DRYING my freshly washed hair and scanning the Chronicle. The only mention of the Bainsworth murder today was the article stating that police had found new evidence—the earring was my guess—and that they were making inroads into finding the killer. Dr. Bainsworth’s funeral arrangements were in the obituary section. The autopsy—the results of which were still pending—had delayed the funeral until Saturday, over a week after the man’s death. But he was to be memorialized in a graveside service Saturday morning at the cemetery, with the burial taking place immediately afterward.
I mulled over what Violet had said about asking Ben what was going on with the police investigation that wasn’t being mentioned in the Chronicle. She’d given me the perfect excuse to call him without appearing desperate to make up with him.
I picked up the phone, dialed all but the last number, and hung up. After doing that twice, I finally got up the nerve to complete the call. I half hoped he’d answer, and I half hoped he wouldn’t. He answered.
“Ben, hi,” I said. “It’s Daphne.”
“What’s up?” His tone seemed guarded.
“I was wondering if the police have spoken with Jill Fisher and her ex-husband about Dr. Bainsworth’s death.”
“I believe they have,” he said.
“Are the Fishers being considered as suspects?” I asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Oh.” I sighed. “Well, thanks.”
“If I hear anything to the contrary, I’ll let you know,” he said quickly.
“I’d appr
eciate that.” I paused, giving him a chance to say something else. He didn’t. “I’ll talk with you later.”
“Wait,” he said. “What about you and Myra? Are you two still investigating?”
“Oh, yeah, we’re on the case, all right. Today Myra made appointments for us at Tanya’s so we could talk with Bunni Wilson.” I huffed. “By the way, that wasn’t a solar eclipse this afternoon. It was my hair blocking out the sun.”
He laughed. “I’d like to have seen that. Hey, I’m sorry about the other night.”
“Me too. I miss you.”
“May I come over?” He paused. “I can be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
The line went dead. I hung up the receiver and hurried to the bathroom. I wasn’t wearing any makeup, and my hair was a fuzzy mess. I brushed and sprayed my hair. Then I applied a tinted moisturizer, mascara, and lip gloss. I didn’t want it to be obvious to Ben that I’d rushed to the bathroom to try to make myself pretty for him, so I quickly went to the living room and sat on the edge of the sofa.
I looked around to see if there was any clutter to be picked up. There wasn’t. I’d been spending so much time baking, I hadn’t had the chance to mess up the living room. There came a knock at the kitchen door. As I expected, it was Ben. I unlocked the door and started to open it, but Ben pushed the door on open. Closing the door with his foot, he took me in his arms and backed me up against the wall. He was kissing me like he’d been dehydrated for days and I was a cool, clear mountain stream. I don’t think Ben had ever kissed me like this before, with such passion, such purpose, such . . . Oh, my . . .
I wrapped my arms around him. I was so lost in our kiss, I didn’t even realize he’d picked me up until he was lowering me onto the living room sofa.
He dragged his mouth away from mine and slid his lips up my neck toward my ear. “I’ve missed you like crazy.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“When I saw you onstage kissing that jerk, it made me sick,” Ben said. “I know you didn’t initiate the kiss, but it was Todd all over again. I was afraid you were ditching me for somebody . . . cooler.”
My eyes flew open. Of course, Ben would equate Scottie with Todd. When I was in college, I broke up with Ben and started dating Todd. Not my wisest move . . . and very probably my dumbest.
“Oh, Ben . . .” I took his face in my hands. “It’s you I want. Only you.”
I WAS AWAKENED on Wednesday morning by the shrill ring of the telephone on my nightstand. I fumbled for the phone, pressed answer, and said a groggy hello.
“Good morning,” Myra said, all chipper and excited. “First off, congratulations. I saw Ben’s Jeep parked at your house last night, so I’m guessing y’all worked everything out.”
“We did,” I said. “Or, at least, I felt pretty good about everything when he left.”
“Great. I’m really glad. I do believe the two of you are meant for each other,” Myra said. “Now, I ain’t got a thing against Scottie, and he’s as cute as can be. I just don’t know that he’s right for you.”
I stifled a yawn. “I agree, Myra. If you’ll give me thirty minutes, I’ll get dressed and make us some breakfast. We can discuss my meeting with Angela while we eat.”
“Well, that’s the thing, hon. You’ll have to tell me about Angela on the way,” she said.
“On the way where?” I asked, raising up on my elbow.
“On the way to Dr. Bainsworth’s office,” Myra said, as if it should’ve been obvious. “I was aiming to call you yesterday evening when I found out, but I saw that Ben was there and decided to wait until this morning.”
“But why are we going to Bainsworth’s office?” I asked. “Isn’t it shut down?”
“Not to us. We’re part of the cleaning crew.”
I sat all the way up. “Myra, we’re as good as suspects. The police aren’t going to allow us within a hundred yards of that place.”
“That’s why they don’t know about it. Hurry and get ready, and I’ll be over to get you in about fifteen minutes. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Myra hung up, and I turned off my phone and placed it back on the nightstand. It was a good thing I’d showered and washed my hair last night. By the time I’d fed Sparrow and grabbed an English muffin, Myra was pulling into the driveway. I wrapped the muffin in a napkin and went out to the car.
“Buckle up quick,” she said, backing her enormous white car into the street. “We’re running behind.”
“Explain to me how you plan to pull this off,” I said.
“Oh, honey, this fell together like a fat man with an umbrella.”
I frowned, trying unsuccessfully to figure out the analogy. Myra continued talking, and I decided her analogy didn’t have to make sense. Most of her analogies don’t.
“You see, China called me late yesterday afternoon,” she said. “She’d talked with her cousin Pat who lives over in Lebanon—the town, not that foreign country they’re always fighting in, and Virginia, not Tennessee.”
“Keep going,” I said, unwrapping my breakfast. “Want half of this muffin?”
“No, thanks.”
I took a bite as Myra stopped for a red light. “And?”
“Well, China’s cousin has been hired to clean Dr. Bainsworth’s office,” Myra said. “That’s what she does—China’s cousin Pat; she has her own cleaning business.”
I hated to be redundant, but I was compelled to again ask, “And?”
The light turned green, and Myra pressed the gas with such gusto I was afraid I’d wind up in the backseat.
Myra scoffed at my inability to appreciate our good fortune. “And China arranged for us to get in there and snoop around.”
“Okay, but what is there to snoop around in?” I asked. “Haven’t the police already confiscated the files and appointment books?”
Myra rolled her eyes. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean there still aren’t things to find.”
“You’ve got a point,” I said. “But what if the police show up?”
“We’ll hide.”
“Well, we have to be sure that we don’t leave any fingerprints that would further implicate us,” I said.
“That’s why I brought us each a pair of rubber gloves.” She pulled into the parking lot of a building across the street from Dr. Bainsworth’s office. She looked all around the area and then pulled out two pair of gloves from her bag and flipped up the collar of her tan coat. She reached into the back floor and got a man’s gray felt hat and tortoiseshell sunglasses to complete her disguise.
“Nice fedora,” I said.
She grinned. “Thanks. It was Carl’s. It’s one of the few things I didn’t send to the Salvation Army after he died. I actually hung on to it in case something like this ever happened.” All traces of her smile disappeared as Myra quickly surveilled the area again. “Let’s go.”
Myra Jenkins was born for intrigue. Or maybe just born to be wild.
CHAPTER
Eleven
WHEN WE arrived at the back door of Dr. Bainsworth’s office, Myra gave two sharp taps. All the while, she was looking furtively from side to side. It was comical, but I didn’t dare laugh. I was afraid she’d give me two sharp taps and say something Edward G. Robinson–y like “Schnap out of it, cookie. You’re fallin’ apart on me, schee.”
The door was opened by a withered little soul who looked as if she might’ve been born sometime after the Battle of Vicksburg but before the swearing in of President Johnson—the first one.
“You Myra?” she asked gruffly.
Myra gave a single solemn nod.
The woman indicated with a jerk of her head that Myra and I should come inside. We stepped through the door, and she locked it before turning to speak with us.
“I’m Pat.”
“Hi, Pat,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Daphne—”
“No names,” Pat said, ignoring my gesture of a handshake and making me wonder if I was the only
one who didn’t get a spy movie script the night before. “It’s bad enough I know hers. And I don’t know her last name.”
“Jenkins,” Myra said.
Pat huffed and rolled her eyes. “What’d you have to go and tell me that for? I’m trying to remain ignorant of the facts here.” She blew out another breath. This time I was unfortunate enough to catch a whiff of Pall Mall and sausage.
“Now, here’s how we’re gonna do this,” Pat said. “As far as I’m concerned, you two are just volunteers who’re helping me clean this office today. And you will help me clean because you’re here in place of the rest of my crew. So you’d best get to your prying.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
Myra tried to play it cooler, giving Pat her patented wink-nod combo.
“You’ve got thirty minutes before I come after you and put your butts to work,” Pat said. “Thirty minutes.”
As soon as Pat scurried away, Myra turned to me with a scowl. “Who died and made that freakin’ hobbit queen of the world?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t realize we’d signed on for cleaning duty.”
“I sort of did, but I didn’t know she’d be so hard-core.”
I sighed. “We’d better snoop quickly.”
“Where do we start?” Myra asked.
“Who knows?” I asked with a shrug. “But to make better time, let’s start at opposite ends and work toward the middle of the office. Does your phone have a camera?”
“Yeah,” she said, digging in her purse for her cell phone. “I’ve never used it before, but it’s got one.”
Fear of being compared to that freakin’ hobbit was all that kept me from rolling my eyes. “Can you figure it out and take pictures of anything suspicious?”
“Of course,” she said with a huff in her voice.
“Great,” I said. “I’ll do the same and see you back here in thirty minutes.”
“Twenty-nine!” Pat called.
The hobbit must have had ears like an elephant. Myra and I went in our separate directions. I headed toward the back, where Dr. Bainsworth’s office was located, and Myra began with the waiting room. There wasn’t much on Dr. Bainsworth’s desk—just a couple photos, even one of him with Angela; a clock; an empty in-box; a telephone; and a crystal paperweight. His appointment book and desk calendar were gone. I figured they, like the files, had been taken to police headquarters.