“It’s a murder case, then?” James asked, both horrified and intrigued by the news.
“Oh yes.” Lucy was in her element. “The whole townhouse had been wiped clean of prints. What’s more is that bottle of Jack Daniels we saw in her bathroom had a familiar-looking residue inside.”
“As in the bottle found at the Polar Pagoda fire?”
“Exactly! It’s been sent to the lab for analysis, but I’d bet five bucks that the residue was left from crushed-up Valium tablets.”
James felt his mind spinning. “But does that mean Ronnie actually did set that fire, like her note says, or did her killer start it? After all, I still don’t believe she had any reason to put Willy out of business.”
“I know.” Lucy sighed into the receiver and then perked up again. “Another thing is, that note didn’t sound like her. It was so flat, so …”
“Without personality?” James suggested.
“Yes! If Ronnie were to leave a suicide note, I could see it on cute stationery with a lot of exclamation marks, you know?” James heard a click and knew that Lucy was receiving an incoming call. “I’d better go, James. Can you fill in the others for me?”
James initiated the supper club phone tree by calling Lindy. Witness to Fitness was shut up tight on Wednesday with a sign taped to the front door that the business would be closed until further notice. James checked out a low-fat cookbook from the library and decided to create his own menus until Phoebe and Dylan were finished sorting out what would become of Ronnie’s business. Murphy’s headline in The Star about the fraudulent meals was instantly forgotten after it was replaced the next day by the news of the death of the popular Witness to Fitness proprietor. Murphy had left James several messages to call her, but so far he had avoided talking to her directly about the case. He felt that if anyone should receive any limelight over the incident, it should be Lucy.
Lindy picked up on the first ring. James invited her to his house for their Sunday supper club meeting and then gave her an update on the investigation into Ronnie’s death.
“Wow! Murder!” Lindy breathed excitedly. “Here I thought the case of the fire was all wrapped up with Ronnie’s suicide. Now, we’re just as confused about that as before. We’ve got two victims and no suspects. Looks like we make some mighty pitiful detectives.” She paused. “I know this is totally off the subject, but what are you going to cook on Sunday since we don’t seem to be full members of the Witness to Fitness program at the moment?”
James explained his plan and then asked Lindy to forward all of the information on to Gillian. Just as he was settling down in a recliner to finish the final chapter of the latest Michael Crichton novel, the phone rang and Bennett, sounding uncharacteristically unsettled, asked James to meet him at the Woodrow Wilson Tavern, the town’s only bar.
“Now?” James frowned as he gazed longingly at his book and at his feet ensconced in his raggedy slippers.
“I need your advice, man.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Bennett slid a mug filled with blonde beer in front of James as soon as he was seated on one of the Tavern’s red leather-covered barstools.
“What are we drinking?” James asked, picking up the heavy mug and eyeing the generous head of foam appreciatively.
“Presidential Ale Light. Our faithful bartender Sammy bought it from a brewery in Staunton.”
James caught the bartender’s eye and raised his glass. “Here’s to President Wilson.”
“To Wilson.” Sammy raised his own glass and took a sip. Froth dotted his gray mustache and he gave it a satisfied wipe with the hem of his apron. As always, Sammy wore a “Made in the U.S.A.” baseball cap and his sideburns were as thick and unruly as a rock star’s. Sammy fancied himself a dead ringer for the famous Southern Civil War hero General Joseph Johnston and styled his facial hair so that it mirrored some of the black and white photographs of Johnston decorating the walls of Wilson’s Tavern. Sammy was a lover of Virginia history and he knew more about the Old Dominion than anyone James had ever met. The Tavern was located on a side road off the highway and was never short of groups of husbands avoiding wives, truckers seeking a respite from the long road, or friends coming together to relax over a cold beer.
Bennett cracked open one of the whole peanuts from the bowl in front of him and plucked the nut from its shell. “I’ve got a professional dilemma, James. As one of the supervisors at the post office, I am the man lucky enough to have to deal with all the customer complaints.” He popped the peanut in his mouth and shrugged. “Usually, they’re about nothin’. Mail got delivered to the wrong Mr. Jones, the protective wrapper on some guys nudie magazine is missin’, one of our mail carriers looked sideways at some lady’s prize pooch—that kind of thing.”
As Bennett paused, James drank some of his beer. It was rich and honey-smooth on his tongue and for a few seconds as he swished it around inside his mouth, he was able to ignore the tension in Bennett’s hands as his friend roughly cracked open another peanut shell.
“Anyway,” Bennett continued, “I got a complaint on Monday that I normally wouldn’t give a flyin’ fiddle about, but since Gillian called me this evening and told me that Ronnie’s death wasn’t really a suicide …” Bennett shoved several peanuts into his mouth and stared at the counter with a pair of tormented brown eyes.
“You think this complaint might be tied to the murder, but you want to protect an employee?” James guessed.
Bennett nodded his head. “Pretty much, yeah. See, it’s about Carter and how he’s been hanging around Ronnie’s place like a tomcat on the prowl. She is … or was, on his route, but the boy even switched his delivery times around so he could see her when she came home for lunch every day. I hear from the mailroom gossips that our fool man has even followed her around town, but that was off the clock and thereby none of my damned business.”
“So who called in with the grievance?”
“That’s the thing.” Bennett tugged on his mustache. “Ronnie did. On Monday, right after lunch.”
“Did you talk to her then?” James couldn’t restrain himself and he gripped Bennett’s shoulder with a firm hand. “That might be the last time anyone heard from her … alive.”
“Don’t I know it? But I didn’t talk to her. She left a message on our voicemail and I hadn’t even listened to it until yesterday. One of the sorters called in sick and I had to lend a hand. But look, there’s no way Carter is some crazy killer. He just had it bad for that woman. If I tell the sheriff, the Lord only knows what’s gonna happen to that boy.”
James took a silent pull of beer as Bennett finished his mug in three swallows and signaled Sammy for a refill. “You’re going to have to share that information, Bennett. I know you’re worried about Carter. I feel the same way about the Fitzgerald twins, but if Carter’s innocent, then it’ll all come out just fine and he’ll understand why you had to report Ronnie’s call. It’s better for the authorities to find out now, in an up-front manner, than if they discover Carter had been stalking a murder victim on their own.”
“See?” Bennett looked hurt. “You’re already throwin’ harsh words around like ‘stalk’ and ‘murder victim.’ And that’s just you! What chance does Carter stand against that red-headed pig Donovan?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.” James cleared his throat and added hesitantly, “But you do have to wonder about why Carter didn’t just go up and talk to Ronnie. Why not ask her out on a date like regular people do?”
Bennett spluttered in his beer. “I don’t know how things were for you back in Williamsburg, but it’s not exactly easy! I can’t even remember the last time that I had the nerve to ask a pretty lady out on a date. Shoot, Ditka was probably still coaching the Bears. It’s hard, man. Carter’s just shy.”
James nodded. “Then that’s what the sheriff will discover as well. He’s a good sheriff, Bennett. Have Carter come with you when you go to explain about Ronnie’s voicemail. His coope
ration will make a strong statement about his innocence.”
For the first time since James had entered the Tavern, Bennett look marginally less worried. “Yeah, that’s a good plan, my friend. I’ll tell Carter all about the call first thing in the morning, then at lunchtime, we’ll head on over to the Sheriff’s Department and get this whole mess straightened out. Thanks, man.” He managed a slight smile. “I knew you’d know what to do.”
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, you guys will probably be back delivering mail before your lunch break is over,” James proclaimed, raising his newly filled glass against Bennett’s in salute.
He was dead wrong.
“I’m not going to be able to make the movie, James,” Lucy spoke into the phone in a crestfallen voice. James had just been preparing to leave the library that Friday afternoon when she called. “Bennett and Carter came in at noon today with some new information about Ronnie and I can’t leave until I know what’s going on.”
“They’re still at the station?” James asked incredulously.
“Just Carter. Bennett was told to leave. He looked awful.” She paused, undoubtedly wondering why James seemed unsurprised by her news. “Do you know what this is about?”
James quickly recapped his conversation with Bennett at Wilson’s Tavern. “I feel horrible, Lucy. I told Bennett that it would be a walk in the park as long as he and Carter were forthcoming about that voicemail message! Has Carter been officially arrested?” He heard his voice rising along with his stress level.
“No, not yet, but he’s been questioned all afternoon. Donovan’s having the time of his life. I can hear him shouting all the way down the hall.”
James moaned.
“But maybe Carter is a reasonable suspect, James. The guy was obviously fixated on Ronnie. They say it doesn’t take too much for a romantic obsession to turn into something darker. Maybe he didn’t want to be rejected or he just didn’t want anyone else to be with Ronnie.”
“No one wants to be rejected, Lucy, but that doesn’t mean they go around drugging and drowning the object of their desire, either!” He heard the shrillness in his voice and immediately calmed down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I just feel terrible for Bennett.”
“I understand. I’m not saying Carter is guilty, either, but I do want to stick around to see what develops. I feel like I owe it to Bennett to keep an eye on Carter. Can we meet at Dolly’s later for dinner?”
James thought back to his last meeting with Lucy at Dolly’s. “Dinner, yes, but not at Dolly’s. Let’s go to that restaurant off the interstate instead. I forget the name. It has something to do with a farm.”
“The Red Barn? The place with the buffet filled with homemade Southern cooking? Mm, mm, you’re on!” James heard men’s voices in the background. “Oh, here they come with Carter. I’ll catch you later,” Lucy said hurriedly and slammed down the phone.
By the time they met at the Red Barn, dinner service was long over and only a few night owls were having cups of coffee as the waitresses wiped down the tables and disassembled the buffet. James and Lucy also ordered coffee and were given a piece of Kentucky chocolate-chip pie on the house.
“Y’all are here at the right time,” their waitress said, plucking down two forks. “We bake fresh desserts every mornin’ so we give away all the leftovers right about now. Thing is, we’ve been selling outta this here pie ever since the Derby. Can’t believe there’s any left. Guess folks are finally sick of it.” She lowered her voice. “It’s a damn fine pie, but I’m sure lookin’ forward to gettin’ back to our regular chocolate chess.”
James and Lucy savored every bite of pie—each one a pleasant mixture of crunchy walnut pieces, soft semisweet morsels, and creamy chocolate. The crust was clearly homemade and had been baked a buttery, golden brown. It tasted more like a shortbread cookie than the customary piece of crinkled, bland dough.
“It’s almost good enough to make me forget about today,” Lucy said, licking some whipped cream from her fork tines.
James pushed his plate away a few inches, trying not to finish his entire piece. “So was Carter released?”
“Yes, finally. The coroner’s report detailed that Ronnie’s death occurred sometime between six and eleven p.m. on Monday night. Carter had a pretty firm alibi. He had dinner at Dolly’s Diner and then went back to Clint’s house while Dolly closed up. Carter and Clint have apparently become good friends. They both have this thing for America’s Most Wanted and Court TV. The two of them split a six-pack and hung out until almost midnight. Carter provided a ton of details about the shows they watched as well as all the highlights of the Orioles-Red Sox game.”
“There was a game last night?”
Lucy also pushed her plate away after dabbing at the last crumb with her index finger. “Apparently it was a makeup game for Sunday night’s rain delay. Clint was switching to the game during commercials and Carter can practically give a play-by-play of the parts of it they watched. Huckabee was pretty convinced, though he had to give Carter the don’t-leave-town speech before letting him go.”
“Thank goodness,” James sighed in relief. “Maybe Bennett will speak to me again after all.”
“You gave him good advice, James. She put her hand over his. Your heart is always in the right place.” Lucy smiled and then tried to hide her mouth as the smile merged into an enormous yawn. “I’ve got to go into work early tomorrow. The sheriff is going to let me go through some of the personal items they found at Ronnie’s townhouse. It’s a great chance for me to shine.” She yawned again. “If I can find a decent clue about her killer.”
“I’d better get you home,” James said and paid their bill. He drove a groggy Lucy to her front door and kissed her chastely on the cheek. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you Sunday.”
The weekend flew by for James. On Saturday, he called over to Willy’s house to ask if he would be willing to build him a computer table for the library.
“I’m right busy with Pet Palace projects, Professor,” Willy answered. “But I’d be happy to build your library the finest computer table anyone has ever seen. After all, you and your friends welcomed me to this town straight off. Without Ms. Gillian, I’d be on the unemployment line by now.”
“You’re a true Renaissance man, Willy. You can run a business, keep the books, and you’re a skilled carpenter. Gillian says you could assemble Noah’s ark out of a pile of toothpicks and make it watertight.”
Willy laughed. “She’s too much!” He paused. “I am a grateful man, that’s for sure, but I do miss dishin’ out my custard. I love to see the faces on folks when they’re eatin’ my sweets and just lettin’ all their cares drift away like feathers in the breeze. Not much company out here in this garage.”
James felt tremendously guilty. It had been weeks since the fire and not once had he called to check on Willy. “How would you like to join our supper club for dinner tomorrow night?” he asked, confident that the others would approve.
“It’d be my pleasure.” Willy sounded grateful to have been included. “Now, I’m going to head off to the library to take some measurements. You say you got some drawings for me, too?”
James told him that a rough sketch was behind the checkout counter and that Mrs. Waxman would give him any assistance he needed.
“See you Sunday,” Willy said cheerfully and rang off.
After leafing through the pages of several cookbooks, James decided to make lemon chicken with lima beans for Sunday’s dinner. He created an alphabetical grocery list and headed out to the Sweet Tooth in hopes of avoiding the early lunch crowd and scoring one of the prized parking spaces on Main Street.
James spent a few moments admiring Megan’s new window display, which showed oversized butter cookies in the shapes of flowers, including pink and purple tulips, white and yellow daisies, and orange tiger lilies. Inside, the bakery was busy, especially for in between mealtimes. Megan and Amelia were both working and James recognized several of his fellow dieter
s from Witness to Fitness. Their purchases ranged from bran muffins, to more decadent hot-crossed buns, to downright sinful cannolis.
“Professor!” Megan greeted him warmly after handing a customer a loaded paper bag. “What can I do for you today?”
James selected a loaf of Italian bread for Sunday’s dinner and bought a loaf of raisin bread for his father. As he examined the bread, he noticed the small French baguettes on display in a wire basket.
“Are you the only local baker who makes that kind of bread, Megan?”
“Sure am. Most stores sell the long loaves but that’s too much bread for anyone’s family unless they’re all coming over for Sunday supper. Still, folks just buy more of the smaller ones from me even in that case. I think my crust is flakier than the grocery store bread.”
“Did Ronnie Levitt buy one from you on Monday?” James asked in a low voice.
Megan frowned. “We’re closed Mondays and Amelia worked the Sunday afternoon shift. You’ll have to ask her.” Megan’s frown deepened into a look of concern. “Wait a minute. Does my bread have something to do with … with …”
“Oh no,” James hastily assured her. “But if Ronnie bought it then whoever came to her house for a meal didn’t. I just thought I’d find out. Chase down a lead, you know, as a favor to Lucy.”
Megan nodded. The whole town knew about Lucy’s longing to become a genuine deputy. After filling James’s order, Megan whispered in her daughter’s ear as Amelia carefully packed a cardboard box with frosted carrot cake muffins. Amelia mumbled something inaudible to her mother and then returned her attention to her customer.
“It was Ronnie,” Megan said to James sotto voce. “She bought the bread at about three o’clock on Sunday. Sorry we couldn’t help you more than that. After all, your Spring Fling combined with the whole scandal about those diet meals has brought us back to life.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, that came out wrong. I mean, I feel terrible about what happened to Ronnie and I wish I hadn’t said anything negative about her. I’m just grateful to have customers passing through my doorway again.”
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