A Case of Sour Grapes: A Cass Elliot Companion Novel (Cass Elliot Crime Series Book 3)

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Nicole started a vicious downward swing but Blue stopped her. “No,” she said, shoving the bat away. “We can’t do this.”

  “Yes we can,” Nicole screamed. “He killed Baxter.”

  The man flipped to his back and kicked the extension cord away. I was shocked to see Will the host staring up at me. His gray eyes were wild and his face so twisted in frustration and fury that he looked like a different man. I was still on my knees and lunged for his legs.

  “We can’t kill him,” Blue said. She grabbed a guitar neck and shoved part of a microphone stand at Nicole. “But we can defend ourselves. Hit him with this.”

  The women set to whacking and Will curled into the fetal position. I squirmed forward and tried to get the extension cord around his legs again, but he kept kicking at me. Blue whacked his calf and Nicole got after his thigh and I managed to wrap the cord around his legs three times and tie a knot. Will grabbed one of Blue’s ankles and yanked, but she maintained her balance and kicked him in the face. When he covered his bleeding chin with both hands, Blue and Nicole fell on him and rolled him onto his chest, then fought to pull his arms behind him. I grabbed thick metal strings snaking from a pile of broken equipment and tied his hands. Then the three of us stood, sweating and panting, and studied our handiwork.

  “Frannie,” Blue gasped, and staggered to the third wife. “Call an ambulance, Maxine.”

  “Not yet,” Nicole said, all the nasally whine gone from her icy voice. “Let’s get him in a chair.”

  THE CONFESSION

  IT ONLY TOOK NICOLE and Blue ten minutes to have Will blubbering and spilling his guts. I couldn’t hear him because The Guess Who had shouted their way through “No Time”, and now “American Woman” was blaring from the stereo. I thought about turning the music off, but it was a fitting soundtrack to Bret Ivy and the incredible mess he’d made of these people’s lives.

  As soon as I saw Will’s lips move, I dialed 911. The room was a disaster of broken equipment, scattered paperwork, and spilled wine. I moved some of the clutter out of the way and sat beside Frannie. The knees of my linen trousers were a bloody mess and I knew Babby would want to super glue me up again. I wondered if a split knee could garner me a trip to the emergency room.

  Frannie was regaining consciousness and I helped her find a more comfortable position. Her left arm was in bad shape and I hoped the break wasn’t so bad she couldn’t make jewelry anymore. She’d promised to create a set of turquoise earrings with matching ring, bracelet, and necklace for me. Shallow, I know, but there you have it.

  A siren’s wail cut through the music and Nicole and Blue stepped away from Will, leaving him sagging as far as he could in the straight-backed chair. It had taken all three of us to lift him into it and we’d wrapped duct tape around his chest to ensure he stayed put. The wives filled me in on Will’s status as Bret’s child as we worked, and suddenly the itch in my brain was scratched. That was the connection I’d been trying to make for days now and I was dismayed I’d missed it.

  “What’d he say?” I asked.

  “He killed both women and Bret,” Blue said, her eyes glazing over. “He was planning to kill us all.”

  “Who all?” I asked.

  “All of Baxter’s wives,” Nicole said. “Past and present. Except for Blue.”

  “What was he going to do with Blue?”

  “Frame her for the murders so she went to prison. She looks enough like his mother that Will has a soft spot for her.”

  “It’s not your fault Bret was obsessed with -” I almost said ‘big bottoms’, but managed to stop myself. “Women.”

  “That’s not the way Will sees it,” Blue said. She sat heavily on the conga, sticking her arms out as it wobbled. “I need a drink.”

  A LITTLE LIE

  DETECTIVE MITCH STONE FOLLOWED the paramedics into the music room. “I need to carry duct tape and scarves instead of a gun. Seems to work better.”

  The Guess Who had made their way to “Do You Miss Me Darlin’?” when Nicole walked over and snapped the stereo off. “No,” she said. “I do not.”

  I scooted out of the way so the paramedics could tend to Frannie. My movements were stiff and I was struggling to stand when Mitch held out a hand. “Knee pads would be a good investment, Maxine. Maybe Santa should bring you some.” He eyed my face. “That’s a nasty cut over your eye. Might need stitches.”

  A cut? I patted the area above my brow and felt something sticky. One of the paramedics checked me over and agreed I needed stitches in my forehead and knee. I knew I would miss all the fun if I went to the ER and asked if super glue would do the trick.

  “Might leave a scar, but yeah, it’ll work,” he answered as he cleaned my wounds and applied bandages. There was a touch of respect in his voice, and I treasured that.

  Mitch led the three of us downstairs and I introduced him to Nicole and Frannie. He waited while Blue poured three good measures of scotch and even let us down the first glass and start on refills. Nobody talked over anybody else this time, and Nicole and Blue shared what Will told them.

  He’d never known the truth about who his father was until just before Mary died. She was on intense pain medication and didn’t paint a very clear picture, but after her death Will found the box of letters that told the whole story. Bret had met and married Mary in his Poison Ivy and the Dismembered Bunnies days and loved her madly. She’d booted him when she discovered he was cheating, and he’d sent heartfelt letters of apology and promises to remain faithful. As many youngsters do, Mary relished her power and made him suffer. Then she found out she was pregnant and expected him to come running when she called. But Bret’s proclamations of undying loved died and he vamoosed, leaving Mary and their son to fend for themselves.

  She was a wreck during her pregnancy, and in the first few months after she gave birth her agony turned to bitterness. But she eventually met a man who swept her Cinderella-style out of her penny-pinching existence and into a lush world of money and privilege. During their courting, he naturally asked about Will’s father and Mary told a lie. A tiny one, but in the way lies often do, it had massive ramifications.

  She told her beau that Will’s father was dead, killed in a military operation so secret that his death wasn’t announced to the public. Something to do with intelligence gathering in Libya. Bear in mind that Mary was an exceptionally beautiful woman and smart enough to keep her suitor out of her panties until she had a ring on her finger. He bought into that little lie to the tune of five sparkling carats set in gold.

  Perhaps all predators have a sixth sense for weakness in their prey. Although not interested in assuming his parental responsibilities while Mary was single, Bret became fascinated with his child once she was married to a wealthy stockbroker. So fascinated that he demanded photos of Will and cash, lots of it, to ensure Mary’s dead hero stayed in the grave. Bret continued to write, Mary continued to wait anxiously for the mail each day, and she continued to supply Bret with a stream of cash and photos of young Will.

  Over time, Mary’s marriage to the stockbroker grew chilly while Bret’s letters grew wistful. He reminisced about their years together during the Dismembered Bunnies days and proclaimed his regret at not knowing his son. When Mary offered to leave her stockbroker husband and join Bret, he refused, claiming simultaneously that he couldn’t provide for her in the way she’d become accustomed and asking for more money.

  About this time, Mary learned how to Google. She found references to Bret’s marriages to Susan Spikes Ivy and Nicole Hartford Ivy, all during the time Bret was allegedly pining away for Mary. She challenged him on his nuptials, but he assured her he was the victim of their feminine wiles and his love for her remained pure. He was unable to leave Nicole because she had taken control of his assets and he would lose everything in a divorce.

  Mary’s bitterness over Nicole, and perhaps her early years of drug fueled living, turned into liver cancer. She was dead within months. But not without first leaving her son
the gift of knowing who his real father was and how the bitch Nicole had ruined Mary’s chance at happiness.

  After Mary’s death, Will found the box of letters and discovered his father was nothing more than a con man whose promises and lies helped send Mary to an early grave. He set out to find his father. Will first saw Bret at Nicole’s house in Dallas and followed him to Cedar Bend Winery, then to Frannie’s studio south of Nacogdoches. All in a single day. In every location, Bret acted as if he belonged and felt free to fondle various females. Needless to say, Will was confused.

  It took a little time, but he realized Cedar Bend was the hub of Bret’s hanky-panky and he asked for a job. When he confronted Bret several weeks ago, Bret steadfastly denied having any offspring and then promptly fled. That was when his disappearing act began.

  Bret wasn’t avoiding Blue by limiting his time at the winery, he was avoiding his son.

  THE DEAL

  MITCH SAT BACK AND stroked his chin, his blue eyes distant. While we waited, Blue poured another round of scotch. The third glass of amber liquid seemed to bring us all back to life. At last he stood and opened his cell phone.

  Cass ran into the kitchen, breathless, and nearly knocked him over. “You got him?”

  We repeated an abbreviated version of events while Mitch sat and listened again. His eyes still had that faraway look when he stood and opened his cell phone. He headed for the front door.

  “Where’re you going?” I asked as Cass checked out the new cut on my forehead.

  “Hmm?”

  “What do you think about Will’s confession?”

  “Oh, that,” he said. “As long as he repeats it, we’re good. Kado’ll find evidence and it’ll be a slam dunk.”

  “Are you calling Sheriff Hoffner to tell him I’m innocent?” Blue asked.

  “Nope. I’m an unnamed source calling Wally Pugh at the Forney Cater. It’s best if he hears the unvarnished truth before Hoffner has a chance to twist it to make himself look good.”

  “And then you’ll call Hoffner?”

  “Then I’ll call Hoffner.” He hesitated. “You’re not the suing type, are you? For false arrest?”

  “What are you talking about?” Blue asked.

  “The department’s kind of low on funds right now, and a lawsuit could push our liability insurance through the roof.”

  “From what we heard today, you’ve got a solid case,” Nicole said. “I’ll represent you.”

  “I hadn’t considered it, but now that you mention it…” Blue tapped the island with a finger as she thought. “Tell you what. Keep those police cars away from the winery’s drive, and I won’t sue.”

  “It’s a good deal, Mitch,” Cass said. “We’ve never made an arrest out here. It’s a waste of money.”

  Mitch nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. “My wife loves the winery. Throw in dinner for two and a bottle of that pink stuff, and I’ll let Hoffner know you were frothing at the bit but I managed to talk you down.”

  Blue held out a hand. “Deal.”

  NO CREDIT

  LIGHTS WERE BLAZING AT the Elliot house, though it was almost midnight when we got there. After she realized I’d had three glasses of scotch, Cass had all but breath-o-lyzed me before letting me follow her home in my Lexus. I’ll admit my reserves of adrenaline were shot, but I managed to keep her tail lights in sight and pull safely into the drive behind her.

  Abe, Harry, Bruce, and Goober were waiting up for us and the rich smell of chocolate cake filled the kitchen. I’ve got to figure out how the Elliots eat like this all the time and stay so thin.

  “Gosh, Maxine,” was all Goober could say when he saw my bloodied clothes and battered face. He shifted from foot to foot, fingering the hook on his overalls, and I thought he was going to faint. But to his credit, he pulled clean kitchen towels from a drawer, filled a bowl with hot water, and left both on the kitchen table.

  This time it was Bruce and Harry who fussed over my wounds. As we told them about the arrests and confessions, they peeled the bandages off my knee and eyebrow, disinfected me, and applied super glue. Harry cleaned the raspberry on my chin, which was scabbing over nicely. “No offense, but I’m not sure you’re cut out for this private eyeing thing, Maxine,” he said.

  “None taken,” I told him. “But it’s too late to back out now.”

  “Then you’d better get some self-defense training.”

  “It’s top of my list as soon as I can move again.”

  Bruce poured hot icing over the cake and Abe filled glasses with milk. His gentle brown eyes reflected concern, but he only squeezed my shoulder as he put my glass on the table.

  “You caught a murderer?” Goober asked.

  “He killed three people and would’ve killed more if Maxine hadn’t stopped him,” Cass answered. “What do you think about that?”

  Goober swallowed a bite of cake. “That’s brave.”

  “Your case is over, Maxine?” Abe asked.

  I felt that free-fall sensation of loss again. “Looks like it.”

  “What do you have lined up next?”

  “Working cases will probably take a back seat to studying and getting my concealed carry license.”

  “Well, you’re off to a good start,” Abe said, and drained his milk. “But I doubt Bill Hoffner will give you any credit for helping identify and arrest a triple murderer, or those three men tied up in drug trafficking.”

  I laughed aloud, and it felt good. “I wouldn’t want his credit if he gave it, Abe. The people who matter know how I’ve bumbled through this case, and that’s good enough for me.” Truth be told, it was.

  “I’m going to bed,” Harry said. “If you want hot water, Maxine, you’d better get in the shower first. Bruce hogs it all.”

  “He does,” Goober added.

  Bruce shrugged. “Some of us like to be clean. But you’re welcome to the shower, Maxine. Let me know if you need me to scrub your back.” Except for Goober, eyebrows shot up around the table. Bruce shrugged. “She’s injured.”

  “Well, well,” said Abe.

  “Just remember the walls are thin in this house,” Harry said as he took his plate to the sink.

  “What does that mean?” Goober asked.

  “Never mind,” Cass told him. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it tonight.”

  WEDNESDAY

  A SMALL TOWN

  I SLEPT SOUNDLY TUESDAY night, probably thanks to feeling so secure in the Elliot house. The hot shower wiped me out and loosened my tired muscles enough that I found a comfortable spot as soon as I slipped into bed. The nightmare stayed away and instead I dreamed of bad music, angry rockers, and a vengeful child. I woke to the smell of frying sausage and baking biscuits and knew any diet plans were worthless. Instead, I swore I’d make it to the gym and do what I could to work off a few calories.

  All six of us crowded around the Elliot’s breakfast table and came to life over a huge breakfast and wonderful coffee. Harry was the first to leave, to pick his girls up and drop them at a day-camp. Abe followed not long after to start on a long-haul run, picking up and delivering cars for a local dealership. Cass was next, hurrying to the courthouse to get the poop on our prisoners. She took Goober to drop him at his trailer so he could pick up fresh clothes. That left me and Bruce to do the dishes, and we listened to the news on KOIL while we loaded the dishwasher.

  There was very little related to our capture of a triple murderer, and nothing relating to the two incarcerated members of Poison Ivy and the Dismembered Bunnies or the drug lord’s kid. We did get an update on the dismal state of cattle prices, the Junior League bake sale scheduled for Saturday, and a notice that the animal shelter was offering free vaccinations until four o’clock today. Some things do make living in a small town worthwhile.

  Bruce didn’t bring up the fact that he’d stayed out of my room last night, and I didn’t mention it either. For some reason, I was content to let this relationship develop organically.


  I dressed for work and sent a text to Simon, confirming a date for Friday night. Yes, I am very interested in Bruce, but we had a long road to travel before I was willing to commit to exclusivity.

  A girl can’t be too rash about her dating options, can she?

  NO JUSTICE FOR THE LOCALS

  THE FLOWER SHOP’S DELIVERY van pulled away as I rounded the corner to the square, and I eased the Lexus into the empty spot. My knees protested loudly as I wobbled up the flight of steps, and I stopped on the landing to take a breather. After the last six days, it felt a little surreal to be standing outside the door with “Lost and Found Investigations - No Job Too Big or Small” written on the frosted glass. I’d loved every minute of it, even the time spent battling Big Billy and Will, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever find a case that could keep me so interested. Yes, a short attention span is one of my weaknesses. I still looked forward to finding mine and Cass’s rapist, but I was having trouble seeing how the day-to-dayness of the business would challenge me.

  Too late to back out now, I told myself, and twisted the doorknob before my Tory Burch sling-back flats walked me right back down the stairs.

  Cousin Cindy looked dismayed when I stepped into the agency at eight forty-five. “No fair. You’re not supposed to be here for another hour.”

  Babby held out her hand. “Pay up, Cindy. Nice work, Maxine. I had the eight-thirty to nine o’clock slot. Oh, and you brought donuts. I hope there’s a cinnamon swirl for me. Ten bucks, everybody. Cindy, go get my winnings from Arty, please.”

  I pulled off my over-sized shades and placed the bag from The Palace on Babby's desk. “Yes, there’s a cinnamon swirl for you, Aunt Babs. There’s a glazed for Aunt Kay. Cindy gets a cake donut.”