Murder on Pea Pike

by Jean Harrington

  And then there was Saxby Winthrop. Fancying himself a ladies’ man like he did, he might have invited Tallulah for a ride. If he forced what he called his “affections” on her and she fought him off, anything could have happened. While that made some sort of warped sense, killing Violet didn’t. After sweet talking her into letting him sell the place, he’d want her alive until the deal went through.

  I lowered my knees and put down the pen, unsatisfied with every single name I’d listed. As likely killers, they were all flawed. What right did I have to make up a list of suspects, anyway? That was police work, as Matt would be the first to point out.

  Yet, I couldn’t walk away and do nothing. A devil’s web hung over my future, even my life, as Mrs. Otis had pointed out. Besides, for the last three years, I’d worked hard to become a respected member of the Eureka Falls community. I didn’t want to be tainted by somebody’s wicked brush, or, heaven forbid, have those crimes darken the good name of Ridley’s Real Estate.

  The thought of bringing hurt to Sam sank my heart. No giving up with that weight on my chest, so, heaving a sigh, I picked up the pad and reread the names. I didn’t get too far. My eye stopped at Chester Ames. How could I have forgotten? While I waited for him in IP’s reception room, he’d received a call from none other than Senator Prescott Lott, Lila’s famous daddy.

  Hmm. I stewed over that for a while and chewed on the pencil some. Politicians sidled up to people in high places all the time. It was just business as usual. Or was it? Violet’s little scheme might have died with her, but whatever the Ames brothers had in mind was likely still going strong. Suppose, just suppose, they were fronting for Senator Lott? If so, who was he fronting for?

  I shook my head. Weariness had me chasing crazy dead ends. I’d better turn out the lights and call it a day.

  A hand on the switch, I paused. Supposing my crazy notion was right, would it lead to the killer?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Well, aren’t you looking mighty fine this morning.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  He sniffed the air. “Smell nice too. What is that?”

  “Versace’s Yellow Diamond,” I replied, my voice as prim as a preacher’s wife’s. Yesterday I’d been low as a snake’s hips, but not today. Today I felt like a hawk riding the sky, much as I had the day I walked out on Billy Tubbs.

  Matt’s dark gaze flitted over me. For some reason, I was glad I’d taken extra care with my appearance.

  “Always wear blue. It becomes you.” He cleared his throat. “I got your text message. No need to apologize.”

  “Glad to hear that, since you didn’t text back.”

  “I don’t send personals. They can be traced.”

  “Well, for pity’s sake.”

  He shrugged. “A habit I got into. Saves me a lot of grief.”

  “Very shrewd, Sheriff. I’ll be sure to remember that in the future. Now, if it’s ready, I’ll sign my statement.”

  “It’s ready. Ellie’s a fast typist.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk.

  Should I mention my thoughts about Senator Lott’s call to IP? Or would Matt think that was plumb crazy, more proof of PTSD?

  As I stood there trying to decide, he found my statement and held it out. “Better check it for accuracy. Also, there’re some new developments in these homicides.”

  “Oh?” I may have looked cool and collected, but my heart skipped a beat.

  “State’s verified the same gun killed both victims.”

  “There’s only one killer then?”

  “No proof of that, but yeah, it’s a logical assumption. And there’s more. Something came to light several days ago, but I wasn’t free to mention it. The Star’s gotten wind of the story, so you’ll be reading about it.”

  I shifted from one foot to the other, waiting.

  “Apparently, the late Tallulah Bixby and Senator Lott’s aide, Trey Gregson, were keeping company. Broke up about six months ago. At that time, she moved out of his house in Fayetteville.”

  Omigod. I sank onto the chair in front of Matt’s desk. “He was in town the day Tallulah died. I saw him at the bank.”

  “He’s still here. Staying at the senator’s home.”

  “What does that mean to the case?”

  Matt shrugged. “Possibly nothing. The state police interviewed Mr. Gregson. He accounted for his whereabouts on the day the Bixby woman was killed. Senator Lott vouched for him. Swore they were in conference at the time of her death and yesterday as well. The household staff has concurred. Apparently Gregson’s here to help plan the senator’s upcoming campaign. So, at this point in time, looks like he’s off the suspect list.”

  Heat rushed to my face. “Unbelievable! He and Tallulah were live-in lovers, and he’s off the hook? Just like that? And I’m still on it?”

  “Whoa.” Matt held up a palm. “Stop right there, Honey. Keep the terms straight. You’re a person of interest. Not a suspect.”

  What he left out was “yet.”

  My face wasn’t about to cool down, far from it. “Tallulah died over a week ago. Why wasn’t her relationship with Trey Gregson made public before now?”

  Matt sighed and shoved stuff around on his desktop. I wasn’t fooled. Gut deep, I already knew what he’d say.

  “We were ordered to limit what we released to the media.”

  “The senator?”

  He nodded, probably sorry to admit it, but too honest to pretend otherwise. “None other.”

  “That’s outrageous.”

  “Some people would agree, but it’s a fairly common practice. The public isn’t always let in on every detail of a crime. In the senator’s defense, he’s protecting a valued aide. A man he swears is innocent of wrong-doing.”

  “Oh he does, does he? You and Detective Bradshaw and the state police have only scratched the surface. If Tallulah’s affair with Gregson was over, why was she riding around town in that big ol’ Caddy? Returning it to him? Ha! I doubt that. Stalking him, maybe.” I stabbed the air with one of my candy-red nails. “Need I remind you of what I said in my report? I was at IP the day the senator called Chester Ames. You said there was nothing illegal about that and you’re right. But don’t try to tell me the senator’s not mixed up in all this somehow. There’s a dead ’possum in the woodwork, and its name is Lott. Problem is, I can’t prove it.” Too smoking mad to sit there any longer, I went to rise out of my chair.

  “Honey Ingersoll, you put your little round rear end right back on that seat.”

  “You can’t talk to me that way.”

  “You bet your sweet ass I can.”

  Matt leaped out of the swiveler to hustle around the desk and sit, holstered gun and all, on the edge, his knees just inches from mine.

  “Why the big switch in seating arrangements, Sheriff? You trying to scare me?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” he said, his jaw like steel, his voice as smooth as buttermilk. “Now listen to me and listen good. I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but, and this is a big but, don’t go jumping to conclusions. Trust the system. More is being done to get at the truth than you’re aware of, which is—”

  “A crock. Let me remind you of something. You’re not a person of interest,” I waved my arms around, “or whatever the term is. I am. It’s easy for you to be calm and professional over all this. It’s a lot tougher for me.”

  He looked at his hands, staying silent for a long moment. Finally, “You’re mistaken, Honey. When you’re involved, I’m involved.” He stood suddenly. “You’re free to leave.”

  I did, but the soaring feeling I’d awakened with collapsed all around me. Matt was my friend. I hated arguing with him.

  In the outer office, I read the statement, signed it, and handed it to Ellie. As I stomped out to the Lincoln, I glanced at my watch. Nine. I called Mrs. Otis.

  “Please tell Sam I’m showing that McMansion on Tyler Lane. Be in afterward.”

  “Happy to, Honey.”
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br />   “That’s legit, Mrs. O. You won’t be fibbing.”

  “Well, just so’s you know, when pressed, I can fib with the best of ’em.”

  I laughed for the first time in days and signed off. When I drove up to the McMansion, my clients, the two urgent-care physicians, were waiting, wearing green scrubs and great big smiles.

  Though part of my brain told me not to waste my time—Sam would never see me as I wanted him to—I still placed the doctors’ deposit check on his desk like a love gift.

  He looked up, smiling. “You did it. Excellent.”

  “Cletus has preapproved them for a loan.”

  “How could he not? They’re an asset to the town.” He flung down his pen. “I have good news too. The Triangle Building sale went through.”

  “Well, praise be. We’re on a roll.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be glad to see that boarded-up old building open and thriving. It’ll be great for Main Street. They’re planning a coffee shop on the first floor and offices upstairs.”

  I smiled, more at his pleasure than his news. “Sounds good.”

  “Yeah, no question about that.” He sneaked a peek at his watch. “Glad you caught me before I left.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “That conference in Little Rock, remember?” I was about to admit I’d forgotten, when he said, “There’s more.” His mouth broke into a grin, the facial equivalent of a happy dance.

  Uh-oh. The only other time I’d seen him looking so thrilled was when he announced his engagement.

  “Lila and I set a wedding date. The third Saturday in December. Right after the senator declares he’s running for president.”

  I managed to blurt out, “That’s a lot of exciting news all at once.”

  He nodded and picked up his pen. “Lila says a Christmas wedding’ll be romantic. I know one thing. As a married man, I’ll have to work harder to keep those sales coming in.”

  He speared me with a single glance. Left unsaid, “You’ll need to work harder too.”

  I wobbled back to my cubicle and shut the door behind me. Before the third Saturday in December rolled around, I had a heavy decision to make.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next day, Saturday, I had three showings. Two of them, I had a feeling, would amount to nothing. The third probably wouldn’t end in a sale any time soon, either, though a young couple expecting a baby—like yesterday, from the look of things—were very taken with a two-bedroom cottage on a quiet street of neat lookalikes. Problem was mortgage approval. If First Federal recommended they turn to HUD for financing, approval could take weeks. Such was the game I’d staked my future on. No good moaning about it. It was what it was.

  At dusk, back in the apartment, I noticed the red message button on my house phone blinking like a crazy eye. When I pressed it, Amelia’s voice floated over the line, humming with excitement. “Call me the minute you get in. I have the best news!”

  Well, that would get any girl’s juices flowing.

  “Guess what?” she said, picking up on the first ring. “Joe’s momma offered to babysit tonight.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Usually babysitting the boys wasn’t a high priority for Mrs. Swope.

  “I know. I’m bowled over. So, if you’re free, what do you say we party?”

  I kicked off my heels. “I don’t know. It’s been a long day.”

  “Oh, come on. I hardly ever get out. And admit it, you haven’t been anywhere fun in ages.”

  I sighed. “Right on both counts. What did you have in mind?”

  “The roadhouse.”

  “You mean the Hog Wild?”

  “It’s the only one in town with live music. And that’s what we both need, a rollicking good time. Come on. It’ll help you get over what’s been happening lately.”

  When I didn’t answer, she said, “Do it for me. Please, Honey. I can’t walk in there alone, but the two of us together would be different.”

  How could I spoil Amelia’s rare evening out? “Okay, you win. Pick you up when … nine, ten?”

  “Not ten. If I’m still here that late, Grandma Swope’s liable to leave for home.”

  “Nine then. We’ll get there before the place heats up, but that’s okay.”

  “Any place without diapers will seem hot to me.”

  I showered quickly, squeezed into skinny-legged jeans, and pulled on a pair of tooled leather cowboy boots, my favorite high school graduation present. For a top, a holdover from my Billy Tubbs days, a midnight blue camisole studded with sequins and tiny mirrors that caught the light. From the bottom of my jewelry box, I dug out some half-forgotten shoulder-scraping earrings, midnight blue like the camisole and great with my eyes. I hadn’t been to the Hog Wild in years and doubted I’d know anybody there. So, figuring I might as well forget about looking conservative and businesslike for one night, I backcombed, sprayed, and teased my hair into BIG.

  It had been so long since I fixed my hair like that, I’d kind of forgotten how good it looked, the front all teased and piled up, the back hanging down wavy, past my shoulders. Too bad those magazines I studied didn’t feature such dos. I’d sure looked for them but never found a one. Anyway, to keep everything in place, I sprayed up a storm cloud and then went to work on my eyes, layering on mascara, shadow, and liner, stopping just short of raccoon. Went light on the lip gloss, though. I’d let the eyes do the talking.

  Good to go and feeling foxy, I packed my blue sequined wristlet with driver’s license, car keys, and cash. Roadhouse ready, I killed the lights.

  Music, loud, thumping and country came pouring out into the parking lot.

  “Hey, it’s crowded already,” Amelia said.

  I slowly cruised a lot jammed with a mishmash of pickups, massive boy-toy bikes, and a jumble of old Fords and Chevys spattered with back-road mud.

  I hoped I wouldn’t have to park out on the pike. The Linc didn’t have a single ding, and I didn’t want to come out later and find some midnight cowboy had caved in a fender.

  I’d about given up when Amelia said, “There’s a spot. Over there, next to the Jag.”

  The lights strung around the Hog Wild roof didn’t quite reach this far, but I pulled into the empty space anyway, next to the one and only XJ in the entire lot. Way over here, we’d be out of the line of fire, so to speak.

  Amelia hopped out of the car like a teenager. In black jeans and a lacy white top, sheer sleeves billowing to her wrists, and rich hair cascading down her back, she looked like the queen of the junior prom. No one would believe she had two little imps at home.

  The hulk at the door let us in without ID’ing us. Amelia gave me an eye roll. We laughed and strutted on in. Four good ol’ boys with fake Stetsons on their heads and electric guitars slung across their chests had lashed into “Gimme Three Steps.” Everybody in the place was talking and laughing and munching on food, everything but listening. The boys in the band didn’t seem to care. Just kept strumming those strings and banging their boots on the platform that passed for a stage.

  “That’s the warm-up group,” Amelia shouted over the din. “Talk about howling dogs. They need to get back to their garage and practice some more.”

  A girl in a peasant blouse and denim shorts so skimpy the cheeks of her butt practically mooned the crowd led the way to a tiny table at stage right. Multicolored klieg lights cast a rainbow all over us.

  “Anything less lit up?” Amelia asked.

  The girl popped her gum. “Yeah, but take this one, wouldya? The manager saw you come in, and he likes cute girls seated up front.”

  “You talking about the bouncer?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. He wears a lotta hats.”

  Another eye roll from Amelia as we pulled out the chairs and sat.

  “What can I getcha?”

  “Two Bud Lights. In bottles.” After Miss Moonie left, Amelia leaned across the table so she wouldn’t have to shout so loud. “You don’t want to drink out of glasses in here.”


  I arched a brow. “An insider’s tip from the darling mother of two who never gets out?”

  She smiled, sort of. “When Joe and I were dating, we used to come here a lot. It feels good to be back. Without him.” Her tone left no doubt she meant it.

  As I sat sipping my beer, I glanced around the crowded room. It was like revisiting an old home you hadn’t seen in years. I took in everything. The knotty-pine walls studded with photos of country stars, the wagon wheel fixtures overhead, the bar with its shiny varnished top, and the rowdy, dating couples at the other tables.

  Amelia waited until my trip down memory lane was over then inhaled a deep breath of the beer-laced air. “I have a confession to make. Promise you won’t get mad when I tell you.”

  “How can I promise before I know what it is?”

  “Promise anyway.”

  “Amelia!”

  “We’re going to have company tonight.”

  “Here? Who?”

  “Cletus Dwyer.”

  Without question, my jaw dropped. “Egads.” I patted my stiff hair. “Think he’ll recognize me?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, just wondering is all.”

  Our beers came. I took a swig then thumped the bottle down fast. “Hey, wait a sec. Cletus was at your house the other night when I called, and now he’s coming here tonight. You two dating?”

  She shrugged and took a sip of her beer. “I don’t know. He’s stopped by a couple of times, but I can’t figure out why he’d be interested in me. All my baggage and everything.”

  “Because you’re beautiful in every way. The boys are darling too. Especially when they’re all sugared up.”

  “This isn’t a joking matter, Honey. I like Cletus.” She swung her attention back to the band, though they didn’t deserve it. “Really like him.”

  Oh my. Then and there, I made up my mind not to say a word about his sleeve garters. Or that I’d thought he was kind of sweet on me.

  “How did he find out we’d be here tonight?”