by Rae Davies
Betty arrived in a cloud of perfume that was spicy and exotic. Her hair was slicked down and a black feather curled around her head as if created for the purpose.
I put in a call to the jail, requesting to speak to Joe. I was quickly rejected. It seemed he wasn’t taking visitors either, or at least not me. I hoped it was more of a general “no visitors” thing, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, talking to Joe was out for at least the rest of today. I put in another call to Gregor to see if he could work on getting that changed. His receptionist did not put me through, but she assured me he would call me right back.
While holding my breath waiting for that, I reviewed my mental list again and decided to take the rest in order of deadline and ease of completion. Nothing like ticking something off your list to make you feel successful.
Painting it was.
Kiska and I left Betty working on the kiosk’s website and went to beard the bull in his pen.
o0o
Parked in the alley behind the Deere mansion, I weighed whether to bring Kiska with me or not. He and Darrell weren’t exactly close, which could work for or against me.
Kiska, awaiting my choice, sat ears perked in the passenger seat beside me. Finally deciding it was best to go in peace, at least this time, I cracked the windows and left him locked inside the Jeep.
What I found at the Deere mansion, however, was far from peace.
Cindy Deere stood on the porch, pounding with two fists on the door. “Let me in, you old thief! I have as much right to this house and those things as you do. And don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to.”
When she saw me, she stopped pounding long enough to give me a deadly stare, then turned back to the door. “If I have to go down the chimney, I’m getting inside.”
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, but also not wanting to leave without finding out what was going on with both Cindy and the painting, I cleared my throat.
She turned to face me again. “What are you doing here?” She looked me up and down. “I hate to break it to you, but you aren’t his type.”
Realizing she thought I was interested in Darrell in the Biblical sense, I blushed. “Oh, no. Remember, I told you, I wanted to borrow a few things for the sesquicentennial?”
“The... oh, yeah...” Her eyes narrowed and her body stiffened. “Did he give you something?”
“Umm.” I glanced at the very closed door. “Well... a few things.”
“What? You know that anything he gave you is as much mine as his, right?”
I didn’t know that, and I certainly wasn’t going to take her word for it, but I smiled and nodded.
She took a step toward me. “So what did he give you?”
“Nothing much. Just some dishes and clothes. You know, that Ruby might have used.”
She sniffed. “Any of it worth much?”
I shook my head. “No... Well, there’s a compact.” I’m not sure why I admitted to the later. I default to honesty under pressure. I blame my mother for that.
Her eyes lit. “How much?”
“Two… maybe three hundred?”
“Dollars?” Her outrage was obvious. “That’s nothing!” She paced up and down the wooden porch. “Have you been inside? Did you see anything in there worth more? There is, isn’t there? There has to be.”
There was the painting, which was certainly worth more to the right buyer, and if you added up all the furnishings of the house, plus the house itself, you would be talking hundreds of thousands of dollars, but I didn’t really think Cindy needed me to tell her that.
Besides, as she wandered back and forth on the porch she seemed to be more rambling than really looking for an answer from me.
She held out a key. “The old bastard changed the locks.”
Deciding changing the subject might be a good idea, I said, “So, those cupcakes were great. I’ll have to stop back by your bakery soon.”
Her responding expression wasn’t pretty. “What bakery? The bakery is gone, or might as well be.”
“But... You seemed to be...” I remembered then that when I’d visited, the only other customer was Missy, and then the day at the kiosk, Rachel had told the teenagers that they weren’t selling baked goods anymore. “The Caffeine Cartel quit ordering from you,” I said. “But they can’t have been your only source of business. I mean I’m sure that hurt, but your cupcakes were great. Even Darrell thought so. I’m sure he told you.” Darrell had shown nothing but anger at the manure cupcakes I’d given him, but I thought hearing her uncle had enjoyed them might lift her spirits.
“You gave Darrell my cupcakes?”
“Yes, I—”
“The poop ones?”
“I...” This wasn’t going as I’d hoped. I strode to one of the windows that flanked the front door and peered inside. “Is he in there? I really wanted to talk to him. He’d promised a painting of Ruby and it hasn’t arrived. I’m hoping he—”
Behind me Cindy broke into laughter, big deep belly laughs.
Confused, I turned back. “I didn’t mean to. I meant to give him the cute ones with the little coffee cups on them, but—”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Cindy paused. “Wait. I gave you cupcakes with coffee cups on them?”
“Yes and they were really cute. Like I said, I meant—”
“Did you eat them?” She didn’t look angry or amused anymore, just curious.
Not sure whether to admit the truth or not, I flushed. “My dog did.”
“The big one?” She looked around. “Where is he?”
“I left him in the Jeep. He and Darrell aren’t that close.”
She looked like she was going to say something else, but then she laughed. “No one is close to my uncle.” She paused and then laughed again. This time more of a chuckle. “Unless they’re being paid, of course.”
She turned around so her back was to the door. “Did you say he promised you something that he didn’t deliver?”
I nodded and then thought better of it. “Well, I don’t think he—”
She’d turned back around and was peering into the house through one of the windows. “That, maybe?”
I pressed up beside her. Leaning against the wall in full sight was the painting of Ruby. It wasn’t boxed. It wasn’t even wrapped. But it had been moved. Surely that meant that Darrell had meant to follow through on his promise.
“He probably got busy,” I muttered.
Another laugh from his niece. “Oh, he got busy all right. The pig.”
She spun back around. “If you want to borrow the painting, you’re welcome to it, but you’ll have to haul the thing yourself. Can you do that?”
Since we were both still standing on the front porch with no signs of being let inside the mansion any time soon, I didn’t see what the purpose of this conversation was, but I agreed. “I can.” Or Peter could. Assuming my acquisition of the painting was 100% legal.
I looked at Cindy again. “I can,” I repeated with a bit more emphasis on the “I.”
“Great. And you have that Jeep. You could haul some other stuff too...”
She didn’t wait for my answer. She hopped down the steps and trotted toward the path that led between the mansion and the bed and breakfast. “I’ll call you!”
Then she was gone, leaving me to wonder what I had just committed myself to and just how illegal Peter might think it was.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
With Cindy working on a plan to retrieve the painting, I was forced to go back to my “to dos” and pick another one. Kiska and I headed back to Dusty Deals and the equally dusty boxes.
I’d barely ripped the tape off the first box when Betty popped out of my office. “It’s done. A rough anyway.”
I glanced around, hoping she was talking to someone else and I wasn’t just embarrassingly uniformed.
She rolled her eyes. “The website for the Caffeine Cartel. Come here.” She dragged me into my office where my computer was on and a website that put mine to tot
al shame was on the screen. Then I noticed the logo.
“Did you draw that?” I asked, eyeing what appeared to be a Cutie with two over–sized coffee mugs tipped provocatively toward her chest.
Betty tilted her head to the side to study her work. “Do you like it? I thought about making them bigger.”
“Uh... no.”
She scowled.
“I mean... they are perfect just as they are. I wouldn’t change a thing.” But then, with my art skills, I couldn’t change a thing. If I could...
“You think so? What about the steam?”
Steam from the cups curled upward, caressing the Cutie and somehow making the whole thing just a tad more X–rated. Well, maybe not X, but a strong NC–17.
“They are...” At a loss for words, I blurted out, “...steamy.”
Betty clapped her hands together. “You betcha they are. Exactly what I was going for. Appropriate, too. Don’t you think?”
Appropriate was not the word that came to mind, but not wanting to admit what that word actually was, I nodded.
“Great. Here’s the URL. They have Internet at the kiosk, right? If not, you’ll have to pull it up on your phone.”
She said a bunch of other stuff as she shoved me back out of the office and toward the back door.
A few feet from the exit, I put on the brakes. “You want me to go now?” It was fairly obvious that she did, but I’d been in the middle of something and lunch was coming up.
Betty arched one brow. “How much did she say she’d pay me?”
In other words, yes. She wanted me to go now.
o0o
The line at the kiosk was shorter than any time I’d seen it.
I knocked on the door and waited, wondering if Missy’s death had slowed business or if the Cuties had turned over a new non–flashing leaf. As soon as I’d had the thought, another followed. If business had slowed, it would only add fuel to the idea that Joe had killed the Cutie to help his own business.
Feeling a bit sick, I knocked again.
This time Rachel answered.
“Oh, it’s you.”
It wasn’t exactly the warmest welcome that I’d ever received, but it certainly wasn’t the coldest either.
“Betty finished your website.”
For a minute, she looked confused. “My what?”
“Web—”
She waved a hand. “Oh, that. Okay.” She stepped deeper into the kiosk, leaving the door open behind her. Taking this as an invitation, I followed.
A car pulled up. Rachel filled their order and then closed the window, sending two more cars away without even looking at them.
Missing sure sales worked prominently into four of my top 10 nightmares. “You don’t have to turn down business because of me.”
She glanced over her shoulder as if surprised to hear cars had been waiting. “Oh, no big deal. Our key customers are very loyal. I can afford to lose a few drivebys now and again.”
With an owner who had an attitude like that, I could see why the line was shorter than in the past.
But I wasn’t here to give her business advice. I handed her the piece of paper where Betty had written the website’s URL and asked, “Did you want to look at it?”
“Sure. Why not?” She retrieved an electronic tablet from under the counter.
Nervous as to how Rachel would take Betty’s interpretation of her business, I waited close to the door. I didn’t want to have to scramble over anything if a hasty exit was needed.
She laughed. Her eyes bright with interest, she asked, “Is that how people see us?”
“I don’t know what—”
“Of course you do. I just want to know. Is that...” She pointed at the two over–sized mugs. “How people see us?”
My eyes widened, and I thought about claiming the need for a potty break.
She raised a brow.
“Well... yes... I have heard some talk about.” I motioned to my breasts.
She laughed again, but this time in a self–assured manner. Then she smiled. “I love it, but it isn’t quite right for the new Caffeine Cartel.”
“New?”
She slipped the tablet back under the counter. “Yes, with Missy gone, we... I’ve made a few changes.”
I didn’t see any changes except the shorter line. But they had quit selling Cindy’s brownies, and I hadn’t seen any sign of flashing... Not that I had proof that had ever been part of their business plan.
“We’re going more upscale. Classy.”
An upscale coffee kiosk. I tried to imagine what that might mean. I couldn’t.
I checked out her t–shirt. Appeared to be the same tight cotton Cutie T from before. Maybe they’d changed their coffee.
Or maybe Rachel was delusional. Except her expression said she wasn’t all that fond of this new direction. But if she wasn’t, then why was she heading toward it?
“So... they arrested your friend.” She shook her head. “I knew he had issues with us, but I didn’t think he was dangerous.”
“He isn’t.”
Her brows rose. “He killed Missy.”
“He didn’t.” My defenses were rising, and I knew it showed, but I couldn’t help myself.
“They found the murder weapon in his store. And I told you Missy said he’d been going through our trash. It’s sad, really. What kind of life must he have to get that upset over competition?” She shook her head.
My feathers ruffled at her assurance that Joe was the killer, but something else she said got my attention more. “Missy said? When? When did she see Joe going through the trash?” I’d been hoping someone had seen him after the murder, but if Missy had been the witness, that was ruled out.
Rachel blinked. “I don’t know. Sometime that week, before she was killed. It doesn’t matter now. The police have their proof.”
My feathers splayed out full force. “The police may have found something, but they don’t think he did it. He’ll be getting released any day.” I didn’t have any idea if the last was true, but she had me so annoyed, I had to say something to shut her down.
Her head tilted. “Really? Why do you say that? Oh, that’s right... you date a police detective, don’t you?”
I wondered briefly who she’d been gossiping about me with, and then realized she was hitting way too close to the target.
The very first time Peter shared something with me too.
But I could fix this. I squared my shoulders. “I also used to be the crime reporter at The News. I still have sources.”
“Do you?” She looked genuinely interested and impressed. That soothed me a bit.
I nodded.
“And they say the police don’t think Joe killed Missy? Even though they found the murder weapon at his shop?”
“They called an expert,” I blurted, and then cursed myself. Guilt raised its scaly head for a minute, and then I remembered, Peter knew better than to trust me. He really couldn’t blame me for being, well, me.
Still, I needed to be better. I sealed my lips and held them together as tightly as I could.
Missy, however, knew how to play hardball. She leaned forward, with an expression that practically dripped anticipation and admiration. “An expert? Wow. Well, it’s good to know they’re taking Missy’s murder seriously. I was really worried they wouldn’t. Her just being a coffee kiosk owner and all.”
I tilted my head in acknowledgment. “The Helena Police Department take all crimes seriously and certainly all murders.” I should know. I’d been involved in enough of them.
“And they don’t think Joe killed Missy?”
“No. They don’t.”
She narrowed her eyes and then muttered to herself as if we were playing some quiz game. “He couldn’t have had an alibi... They found the murder weapon... He had a motive—”
I must have made some kind of noise.
Her head jerked up.
“They don’t think his motive was strong enough? But he went through our
trash. He drove by all the time.”
She seemed so genuinely confused and even upset that I knew I had to tell her something. She had lost her friend and partner. She deserved to be told something.
“They said...”
Her gaze sharpened.
I backtracked. “I mean, I heard it was how she was murdered. They didn’t think the method fit with his motive.”
“Didn’t fit with his motive?”
I understood her confusion. “I don’t know what that means. I actually don’t know how she was killed or what the murder weapon they found was. Do you?” I asked the last innocently enough. I was glad the police were seeing the light with Joe, but knowing a few more details about everything wouldn’t hurt either.
Rachel, however, had gone somewhere else. She chewed her lip and stared at the wall.
I repeated my question.
She jerked and blinked a couple of times as her focus came back to me. “What? No. How would I? I’m not the one dating... I mean, with sources.”
I didn’t give in to her obvious assessment. I just stared back.
“You know though. That doesn’t mean they have the wrong man. Maybe we all just have the motive wrong.”
“Wrong? But what other reason—”
“Jealousy. Or just obsession. He was obviously stalking Missy. It might not even have been about him losing business. He’s probably one of those sad people who lock onto someone else and think they’re in love.” Her eyes widened in horror. “It could have been me.”
“He isn’t like that.”
“Like what?”
I couldn’t say any of the words that described what she was saying. “You know... obsessed.”
She studied me for a minute. “Okay, I lied. I do know what he used to kill her. That reporter Bev told me.”
Damn, Bev. She had nowhere near the connections I did. How had she gotten prime information like that?
It took me a minute to realize Rachel was waiting for some kind of response from me. To continue the conversation at this point felt disloyal to Joe, but even though every cell in my body said I should just leave now, I couldn’t. Not without finding out. “What?”
“A stocking. They found it in his store.”
“Christmas?” I asked, hoping.