A Bad Day for Scandal

by Sophie Littlefield

  “Sure, I guess,” Noelle said, yawning. “Joy don’t get off work over at the laundry until three anyway, so what else have I got to do?”

  Chapter Twelve

  By eleven o’clock, Stella and Chrissy were sitting in the Jeep outside a nice-looking trilevel home set off by precisely trimmed hedges and shrubbery that looked like it had been made to behave. A big red GMC pickup shared the driveway with a dusty green minivan. After a moment or two, the garage door went up, revealing an interior crammed with workshop tools and stacked lumber and supplies, and a man came out dragging a trash can.

  “He’s trimmed up some,” Stella observed. Salty had, indeed, lost much of the spare tire he’d been growing around his middle. He was dressed in a fleece jacket and nylon workout pants that didn’t show him to best advantage, but Stella judged him a nice-enough looking man—you could still see the shadow of his former athletic self, and he still had a full head of dishwater blond hair.

  Salty noticed the Jeep pulled up in front of the house and hesitated. “Let’s get him now, before he decides he’s not feeling friendly,” Stella suggested.

  They got out of the car as Salty gave them a tentative little wave. Stella wasn’t surprised by the lukewarm nature of the greeting—everyone in Prosper knew she was an unconvicted murderer, and plenty of them had heard rumors about her more recent endeavors. It tended to make even innocent men uncomfortable.

  “Mrs. Hardesty, is that you? I haven’t seen you in an age.”

  “Well, hello, Salty,” Stella said, edging cautiously up the icy drive. “It has been a while. This is my friend Chrissy Shaw.”

  Salty gave Chrissy a carefully appraising look. “I think I remember you. You were in middle school when I was in high school, isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah,” Chrissy said, taking hold of her jacket zipper and tugging it down far enough that the top of her low-cut sweater was visible. Salty watched, his mouth gaping open. Stella hated to admit it, but Chrissy’s extraordinary cleavage had helped them out in more situations than she could count. She always felt a little uncomfortable using her assistant’s considerable natural appeal on the job, but it was just so darn effective. Men couldn’t seem to keep their minds on concealing the truth when they were faced with her impressive curves and sexy pout and wide, pale blue eyes.

  Chrissy jutted one hip out provocatively and narrowed her eyes. “You were on the golf team or some shit like that.”

  She said it in the same tone that she might have used if she’d said he’d been on the stable-mucking crew, but Salty stood straighter and sucked in his gut. “I was the captain, actually,” he said modestly, pushing the trash can over the curb into the street and wiping his hands on his pants.

  “You building something in there?” Stella asked, pointing to the project laid out in the garage.

  “Oh, that. We’re putting in a shed out back. Doraleigh—my wife—she wants to park in the garage, so I needed a place to move all my crap into. Oh well, it keeps me out of trouble, ha ha.”

  “I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions,” Stella suggested. “We have a friend in common … and we’re a little worried about her. You know Priss Porter?”

  Salty’s pale eyebrows shot up, and he pursed his mouth. “Priss? Why sure, I know her, but I ain’t heard from her in quite some time. What, has she—”

  Just then the door leading into the house opened and a woman came striding out, holding a baby and poking at a cell phone with her free hand and talking away, in the middle of a sentence. “—get that mess swept up, because I need to—

  “Oh,” she said when she finally noticed that they had company. She slipped the phone in her pocket and hitched the baby up higher on her shoulder. He was a handsome little baby, with her dark sturdy looks rather than Salty’s rather bland and featureless ones. She ran a hand through a cascade of badly dyed curly hair and produced a harried, insincere smile. “Hello.”

  “Doraleigh, you remember Mrs. Hardesty,” Salty said. “And Chrissy Shaw, well you probably don’t remember her. She was a few years behind me. Doraleigh’s two years older than me,” he added, giving Chrissy a little smile.

  Doraleigh shot him a look that contained about as much warmth as an iceberg. Then she turned to Chrissy and gave her a cool once-over. “I’ve met some of your kin, I believe. Seems like there’s a lot of Lardners around these parts.”

  “We’re good at that,” Chrissy agreed. “Reproducin’.”

  “And of course I remember you, Mrs. Hardesty,” Doraleigh added with only slightly more warmth. “Would you care to come in? I could put some coffee on. I’m sorry the house is in such a state—I’m trying to get Salty to clean up the mess he’s made out back, since we’re having company tonight.”

  She couldn’t have made it more clear that the timing of the visit was inconvenient. The little boy in her arms started making a huffing sound as if he was winding up into a wail. Which was good, because Stella had hoped to talk to Salty by himself.

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “I’m sorry to intrude on your afternoon, I was just—”

  “They’re here on account of the blanket drive that the highway patrol’s putting on,” Salty said quickly, and gave Stella a look that could only be described as pleading.

  “Huh,” said Chrissy.

  “Oh yes!” Stella exclaimed, blinking with surprise. “My dad was a patrolman. I just like to give back a little. In his memory. What a successful campaign we’re having this year, too.” She gave Doraleigh Mingus an expression that was as beatific as she could come up with on short notice, and gestured at the Jeep. “Just loading up with blankets and quilts, gonna drive them on over to the station.…”

  Doraleigh considered them dubiously. “Is this like Toys for Tots? ’Cause usually I put the toys in the bins they got at church.”

  “Yes, yes,” Stella agreed. “We do that, too. I, um, forgot that you and Salty had kids already. Seems like you two just tied the knot yesterday.”

  “Hmm,” Doraleigh said as her son wiped a fist under his own runny nose and hiccupped in agitation. “I got to get in, I left Emma in the baby swing.”

  “I’ll just be a minute, hon,” Salty said, visibly relieved. “I’ll get the back straightened out and then I can give you a hand with the kids.”

  “Hmph,” Doraleigh said in a tone that implied she’d believe her husband was going to give her a hand around the very same time that pigs started flying through the air. She shot Chrissy one more doubtful look and then gave them a brisk nod. “Take care.”

  “Oh, and you do the same,” Stella said sweetly.

  Nobody spoke until the door to the house shut behind Doraleigh.

  “Sorry about that,” Salty said in a low and agitated voice, as though he suspected his wife of having supersonic hearing. “Doraleigh’s just … well, she’s kinda jealous. She don’t like hearing about any of my old girlfriends, you know?”

  “Priss and you were involved,” Stella said unnecessarily.

  “Oh, I remember you guys in high school,” Chrissy said with a note of scorn. She had clearly decided to take the “bad cop” job this time around. “She was so smart, I couldn’t ever figure out why she was going out with you. No offense.”

  “So you haven’t heard from her at all? Have you talked on the phone?”

  Salty rubbed his chin with a big, meaty hand. “No, no, nothing like that. We just sort of fell out of touch.”

  “But I thought you were living up in Kansas City a while back,” Chrissy said. “I heard you worked for Priss up there.”

  “Oh. Uh, yeah, that’s true, I worked for her for a while, but it’s been years.”

  “How many years?” Stella asked. “Just curious.”

  “Well … about three, I guess.”

  Not that many, Stella thought darkly. “And look at you now, married to a lovely woman and with a couple of beautiful children already. Isn’t it wonderful how things work out, sometimes.”

&n
bsp; “Uh, yeah.”

  “What-all kind of business were you and she in?” Chrissy asked.

  “It was, ah.” Salty pursed his lips into an o and looked at the ground. “Well, it was … landscaping.”

  “Landscaping?” Stella exchanged a glance with Chrissy. The Green Hat Ladies had said he hadn’t stuck to a regular job, and she remembered him doing construction here and there, but it seemed unlikely that he and Priss, with all her business acumen, couldn’t have come up with something a bit more ambitious. She was pretty sure Salty was lying.

  “You ran a crew? Did design and installation? Bid on projects? That sort of thing?”

  “Um, that was her end. I was, like, the guy who did the landscaping. You know, like a gardener.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, like I said, we’re mostly just worried. Seein’ as she’s gone missing.”

  Salty blinked. “You’re kidding,” he said in a stilted voice.

  Chrissy shot Stella a look of disgust, and Stella knew she wasn’t buying it either. “I’m afraid so. There was some trouble out at Liman’s the other night, apparently, while she was visiting, and now they’ve both disappeared.”

  “I didn’t know she was in town,” Salty said hurriedly.

  “No, I didn’t mean to imply that you did,” Stella said. “I think this was a last-minute trip.”

  Salty swallowed. “Well, then, I bet she just turned around and went back home. You, uh, tried her there?”

  “Oh, yes,” Stella lied. “I tried all her numbers. That’s what’s got me so concerned. Seein’ as you and she used to be close, we were wondering if you might be able to help us out with some ideas on where she might have gone. If, you know, she was in need of a little privacy, for instance.”

  Salty appeared to be holding his breath. A variety of emotions duked it out on his face: alarm, doubt, and uncertainty—and not a little bit of fear. “Like I said, it’s been a while. Priss and me don’t keep up much. Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what are the two of you doing looking for her?”

  Stella fixed him with an unblinking gaze. “I do a little … investigative work, on the side. Looking for things that folks have lost. You may have heard.”

  Little beads of sweat appeared around Salty’s hairline, despite the rapidly plummeting temperature. He’d evidently heard something closer to the truth.

  “Who hired you? If you can say.”

  “Oh, I wish I could,” Stella said regretfully. “Only they got all these client confidentiality rules.”

  “I ain’t bound by them rules,” Chrissy said. “I’m just the assistant. Only, I don’t feel like telling you. I think you know more about Priss than you’re saying.”

  “Oh, Chrissy, can it,” Stella chided. She gave Salty an exasperated smile. “I apologize, Salty. Chrissy’s new to the investigatin’ business, and she hasn’t learned the number one rule yet. She’s just got all that youthful passion built up and sometimes she can’t hardly control it.”

  Chrissy scowled and tugged her zipper down a little farther, and flicked her blond curls with her fingers. Then she heaved a huge sigh, throwing her shoulders back.

  If Salty was put off by her irritability, he didn’t show it. “I sure wish I could help you,” he said, addressing her breasts.

  “Just a couple more questions,” Stella said, “and then we’ll be on our way. Why did you leave Priss’s employ?”

  “Why did I what? Oh, you mean why did I quit?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “It was … I didn’t…” A little twitch formed over Salty’s left eye, and he put a thumb to his mouth and gnawed at his nail for a moment before he added, “Difference of opinion, is what it was.”

  “Opinion over what? Over your performance?”

  Salty’s gaze darted to the left and the right, before coming to rest on his shoes. He stared intently, as though seeing if he could untie his shoelaces with his mind. “S’pose you could say that,” he finally muttered, and even Stella was surprised at the depth of the bitterness in his voice.

  “What—you couldn’t mow a straight line?” Chrissy prodded him disdainfully.

  Salty glanced at her nervously. The tic near his eye danced and throbbed in a fascinating manner that made it difficult for Stella not to stare.

  “Couldn’t handle your trowel? The quality of your fertilizer didn’t impress her?” Chrissy took a step forward and jabbed a finger at him. “Didn’t do much for her blossoms? Couldn’t much navigate her patch? Huh?”

  After a moment, Salty seemed to wilt. His shoulders slumped, and his chin ducked down toward his chest. “We had professional differences, and that’s all.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Stella said in a soothing tone. “You get much call to go up to Kansas City these days, Salty?”

  “From time to time. I work for Doraleigh’s dad. We work with a few vendors up there, so sometimes I’ll have a meeting—you know, not real often.”

  “Just how often would you say that happens?”

  Salty shrugged. “Dunno—maybe one or two times a month. But don’t get any ideas. I don’t visit Priss or nothin’. She’s got her uptown life now, with her Mercedes and her country club membership and her fancy house. I mean, I got my pride.”

  “What’s that mean?” Chrissy asked in a cruel, lilting tone. “What kind of pride we talkin’ ’bout?”

  “You know—man pride,” Salty said, blushing.

  On their way to the car a few minutes later, Stella shook her head in disgust.

  Man pride. What a concept. As if that half of humankind needed any more reason to feel superior.

  She started the engine and drove slowly down the street, watching Salty setting up his ladder in the rearview mirror.

  “So what is it, anyway?” Chrissy asked.

  “What’s what?”

  “The first rule of the detecting business.”

  “Oh, that.” Stella smiled and turned up the heat. “Same as any other business, really. Something Ollie used to say: Screw them before they screw you first.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  By early afternoon, they were seated behind a couple of pulled pork sandwiches at the Pokey Pot. Binny Planche, the restaurant’s owner, had done a little unorthodox decorating for Easter; his oldest girl was studying art over in Rolla, and she’d got hold of the kind of paint that can be used on glass, but rather than the traditional rabbits and chicks and baskets of eggs, she’d gone for cavorting pigs with a nice assortment of holiday trimmings. Besides a little gal pig in what looked like a naughty bunny costume and high heels on her back hooves, there was a pair of porkers who looked like they were pelting each other with jelly beans and bellowing with rage; a large and dignified looking sow in regal pastoral vestments; and, most inexplicably, an almost photorealistic rendering of a Shelby Cobra that appeared to be roaring toward a trio of little piglets wearing crowns of thorns on their sweet little heads, possibly intending to flatten them into bacon.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Brittany do anything quite like this,” Stella said, licking sauce off her fingers. She and Chrissy had each ordered the Pokey Pot Baby, the smallest sandwich on the menu, which had about twelve pounds of delicious pork falling out of the bun.

  “But remember when we had lunch here back in July—”

  “Oh, yeah, that naughty Uncle Sam … forgot about him. With them little trousers of his…”

  For a few moments they reminisced about their favorite painted tableaus, a feature of the restaurant since little Brittany Planche had been old enough to hold a brush. Her parents were proud of both their offspring, though only her big brother, Jeremy, had decided to follow in the family footsteps, working back in the kitchen.

  “Whyn’t you fire up that laptop of yours,” Stella said when they were finished and had washed up at the trough the Planches had installed in the front of the restaurant and fitted with faucets, and refilled their iced teas. “Seein’ as it’s going to be the ruin of me, might as well get some use out of it.”
/>
  She was secretly pleased every time they had an opportunity to use the thing. It was a sporty little Mac model, the bottom of the line but no less impressive to Stella, who had taken to finding out where in town there was free Wi-Fi to be had since it still tickled her no end to watch Chrissy hack into the DMV or check out the sports scores from, say, the parking lot of the Calvary United Methodist Church.

  “Don’t give me that, Stella Hardesty, you cheapskate. I’m the laughingstock over at the U-Pub. They all got Airs. Wouldn’t a cost you but a few hundred bucks more and it runs circles around this piece of junk.”

  “What you get for hanging out over there—you ought to be embarrassed,” Stella teased. The University Pub, fifteen miles down the road in Harrisonville, was a hangout for grad students in the computer science program at the state college. After three decades of mostly dull-witted men, Chrissy had developed a fixation on geeks—particularly those who could teach her whole new ways to sneak around on the Internet.

  By and large, they were—to a bespectacled and pocket-protected man—overjoyed to receive the attentions of a slightly older, far more worldly, and amply sexed lovely woman with curves and soft places to spare. After a couple of failed marriages, however, Chrissy was taking a break from the whole monogamy thing, and Stella feared the day would come when she’d made her way through the entire pack of young men who hung out at the U-Pub.

  At least there was a fresh crop every semester.

  “Don’t see why I should be embarrassed,” Chrissy said, staring intently at the screen, fingers flying, “when I can do this.”

  She spun the laptop around and Stella dug in her purse for a pair of reading specs and slid them on her nose.

  “Well, what the heck am I looking at?” she demanded. It was a bird’s-eye view of a cluster of tile-topped buildings surrounding a sparkling pool and a couple of angled tennis courts. “Time shares in Hawaii?”