by Lois Winston
“Mikey,” she cooed. “This is the last sort of place I’d expect to find you.”
“Work,” he said, smiling blandly.
“Oh, sure.” She gave him an odd, cryptic look. “You expecting someone to walk off with a case of pinot noir?”
“You never can tell.”
She was pretty in an all-American sort of way. Straight, shoulder-length hair parted on the side, cute nose, even white teeth. I disliked her immediately.
With a glance that managed to concede my presence while not actually acknowledging it, she took a slow, theatrical sip of wine, then leaned forward and planted a delicate white hand firmly on Stone’s chest. “You do amaze me sometimes,” she said slowly. “You really do.”
I shifted awkwardly from one foot to another while she continued to eye him with amusement. Finally, with a toss of her head, she was gone.
“Mikey?” I asked when she was out of hearing.
“Short for Michael.”
“Is that what people call you?”
“Only Barbara.” His expression was grim.
“Who is she?”
“My wife.”
Boom. So much for fantasy, not that it really mattered either way, I thought. “She’s very pretty,” I said brightly.
Stone looked amused. “Soon to be ex-wife.”
“Oh.”
Just then Daria and Jim joined us, drawn, I’m sure, by Daria’s unwavering curiosity. The minute I’d stepped into the car that afternoon she’d been all over me about the good-looking man I’d been talking to outside the church yesterday. When Daria calls someone attractive— or generous or talented or kind—my antennae go up immediately. Unless she is talking about her own family, these words usually signal an ulterior motive. The fact that Stone was a police officer and not some secret admirer did little to suppress her curiosity, and I knew that she was now anxious to meet him in the flesh.
“Kate,” she gushed in her most sparkling manner, “we forgot to set a meeting time. How late do you want to stay?”
“Whatever you two want is fine with me.”
She smiled at Stone and waited for me to introduce her, which of course I did, although reluctantly.
“Lieutenant Stone is investigating Pepper’s death,” I explained.
“It’s still hard to believe,” Jim muttered, kicking at the grass with his toe. “That kind of stuff just doesn’t happen in Walnut Hills.”
“Unfortunately,” Stone replied, his mouth tight, “murder happens everywhere.”
Craig Foster passed by just then and gave Jim one of those male-buddy shoulder punches. “How ya’ doing? Spent all of Tuesday night’s riches yet?”
“I’m banking it, so the next time you guys try to bleed me I’ll have an edge.”
“Just remember,” Foster chuckled, “if my car hadn’t been blocking your Beemer, you’d have pulled out at midnight the way you wanted, and you’d still be in the hole.”
Jim turned back to us and tugged at his ear. “Poker,” he said, looking a tad sheepish. “My one weaknesses.”
Daria smiled blandly and then fixed her gaze attentively on Stone. “How’s the investigation coming along?” she asked, with a cute little tilt of her head. When she puts her mind to it, she can be utterly charming.
“About as well as can be expected.”
She flashed him a perfect smile. “Oh? Any suspects yet?”
Stone smiled back. A congenial, good-natured, aw- shucks kind of smile. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case, but I’ll admit it’s not the easiest one I’ve worked on.”
“I should think not.” She tucked a strand of shiny auburn hair behind her ear. “These random violence things must be very difficult to solve. Something like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Sometimes we get lucky.” His eyes were softly mocking. “Sometimes we even get smart.”
Jim looked up and shoved a hand into his pocket. “I guess you’re getting a lot of heat on this one. All that publicity and stuff. Does that help or make it worse?”
“In the short run it’s hard, particularly when politics get involved. But in the bigger picture it sometimes helps. There may be a witness who knows something but wouldn’t come forward without all the coverage.”
Daria frowned. “Certainly by now anyone with pertinent information would have contacted you, don’t you think?”
“Hard to say.”
Her frown deepened. “Pepper was a dear friend of mine. If there’s anything I can do to help out, be sure to let me know.” Reaching into the genuine alligator purse that had been a birthday gift from Jim, she handed Stone her business card. “Feel free to call me at work or at home. Anytime.” She flashed him another of her award winning smiles, then looped her arm through Jim’s and sauntered off.
“Why do I feel like I’ve just been standing in front of a hot oven?” Stone asked me when they left.
“Daria has that affect on people sometimes.”
“Doesn’t it wear you down?”
“She’s not always like that,” I explained, offering him a chocolate truffle.
Stone picked it off my plate and took a small bite, letting the chocolate melt in his mouth before swallowing. “Truly amazing, this diet of yours.” He plopped the rest of the candy in his mouth and licked his fingers.
“I thought of something else.” I said.
“Mmm.”
“About Pepper.”
Guiding me by the elbow, Stone led me to an empty patch of grass away from the crowd. I tried not to think about the warm spot where his fingers touched my skin.
“Shoot,” he said.
“It may be nothing.” He nodded. “But at Pepper’s service I saw a young man sitting at the back of the church, by himself. He looked familiar, yet I couldn’t place him. Then when I got home, I started sketching the garden between our house and the Livingstons’. . .”
“You draw?”
My artistic abilities were not the issue, but I nodded.
“I would love to have some talent in that direction. I can barely manage a stick figure with enough toes and fingers to be certified as kindergarten level.” He shifted his weight. “Do you paint too?”
“Yes.”
“Oil? Watercolor?”
“Look, do you want to hear what I found out or not?”
“Okay. You saw a familiar face, and then in the garden you remembered who it was.”
“How did you know?”
“Brilliant deductive powers, I guess.”
“And do you know who it was?”
“The gardener?”
So much for my great investigation. “Then you know about him already?”
“Know what?” His voice grew suddenly serious. “I’m sorry. What did you want to tell me?”
I described my excursion to the apartment on Blake Street that morning. “It’s odd, don’t you think?”
Stone nodded, seemingly lost in thought “It’s probably just a coincidence, but we’ll check it out all the same. Did Pepper ever mention this Tony to you?”
“Once. She thought I should hire him to prune the ivy along the back fence. She said he was a good worker.”
“How long had he worked for them?”
I tried to think. “She used a gardening service at first, but she was never happy with them. They were the mow- blow-and-go variety. Tony must have started working for them around last Thanksgiving. I know he wasn’t there last summer.”
Stone looked perplexed. “Mow-blow-and-go?”
“Mow the lawn, blow the leaves and go. Pepper wanted somebody who took an interest in the garden.”
“I see. And Tony fit the bill?”
“Apparently so.”
His shoulder nudged mine. “Maybe I should deputize you. Seems you seem to come up with as much as we do.”
I knew he wasn’t merely humoring me because he’d taken out a little notebook and written down Tony’s name and address, but there was a glint in his eye which was most und
etective-like. I looked away quickly.
“Still,” he said after a moment, “I wish you’d stop playing cop. If you have something you think might be important, tell me about it and I’ll look into it. Someone who has killed once finds it easier to kill a second time.”
“Are you saying that somebody might try to kill me?”
“If you go poking around where you’re not wanted, yes.”
I couldn’t make up my mind whether to be angry with him or not. I don’t like to be patronized, but I’m quite willing to be cherished and protected. And I definitely prefer being alive to being dead.
“You want anything more to eat?” Stone asked, tugging at his tie.
“Maybe some fruit salad.”
“Why don’t you go grab a table over there by the rose bushes, and I’ll get us some food.”
Most people who attend the festival like to stay on their feet, drifting from station to station in order to sample the whole range of wines available, so I had no trouble finding a vacant table. I cleared the mess left by the previous occupants and sat down to await Stone’s return.
“Fruit salad,” he said, setting two heaping plates on the table. “And pasta salad, ribs, and shrimp on a skewer. This is a crazy place to come if you’re watching your weight.”
“You’re right.” Actually, I would have to start watching it soon, whether I decided to stay pregnant or not. With Anna I’d gained forty pounds, and even after she was born people stopped me on the street to ask when the baby was due. I didn’t intend to get myself in that fix again.
“Do you think you’ll be able to find the killer?” I asked, between mouthfuls.
“If it was actually someone she knew, our chances are a lot better than they were when we were simply looking for a burglar. Your friend Daria was right about random killings. They’re the worst.”
“What will happen if you don’t find the guy?”
There was a moment of silence before Stone said flatly, “Absolutely nothing. It happens all the time.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I wish I were. If you’re smart enough, or lucky enough, it’s fairly easy to get away with murder.”
There was a bleak quality to his voice, which I found disconcerting. “You’re not very optimistic about this case are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m trying to be realistic.” He stood and collected our empty plates. “I guess I’d better be moving on. Let me know if you think of anything else.”
I nodded, watching him. I was trying to sort through what I knew about Pepper, to search my memory for the single tidbit of information which would make all the pieces fall into place, but instead I fixed on those blue-gray eyes of Stone’s. Eyes that seemed to speak a language of their own.
“Why are you getting a divorce?” The words were out of my mouth before I knew it, but they’d been on the tip of my tongue ever since Barbara had waltzed through earlier in the afternoon.
The half-smile on Stone’s face faded. “My wife got tired of being married to a cop, I think. Or maybe it was just me she got tired of.” He stacked the remaining cup onto the pile in his hands and replaced his chair carefully so that its back just touched the table.
“Any children?”
“No. We’re fortunate in that respect I guess.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased about it, though. “I was on the force in San Francisco. It’s different there than Walnut Hills. It’s like trying to build a castle with dry sand. Nothing holds. Half the time I wouldn’t get home when I said I would, and when I was home, my mind was a million miles away. Barbara wasn’t happy about any of it. Hell, I wasn’t happy. So I took this job and we moved out here. But by then it was too late.” Stone paused. “She went back to school last year, moved out last fall. Now she has an MBA and more job offers than I could ever dream of.”
The thin, strained quality to his voice reached out and grabbed me. “I’m sorry,” I said, then stood up too and helped him toss the trash into the basket.
After Stone left, I listened to one of the bands for a while, glanced through an exhibition of serigraphs by my former art teacher, and talked to Lisa Bloom, mother of Scotty, the boy who regularly pinched Anna and at least once a week kicked over the art-supply shelf at school. And out of the corner of my eye I continued to watch Stone, promising myself that tomorrow when I gave up sweets, I would also give up thinking about him. It was going to be clean, wholesome living from then on.
Finally Daria found me and we rounded up Jim, who seemed to have done his part to make up for those of us who weren’t drinking. He listed slightly when he walked, and his eyes were glazed. I was glad when Daria offered to drive and Jim agreed to let her.
“Just remember,” he warned her, “it doesn’t handle like the BMW.”
Daria patted his knee affectionately. “I’m well aware of that.” Then she turned to me. “I can’t believe the shop can’t find a better loaner. This car is really something, isn’t it?”
I had to agree. A blue fender, a red trunk, and rust dotted white everywhere else. “Very patriotic,” I said.
“They promised us our car four days ago,” Jim muttered, “but that was before they realized the part they needed was on back order.” With that, he leaned back in the seat and began snoring softly.
“You all set for starting work Monday?” Daria asked as we pulled up in front of my house.
“I’m looking forward to it, that is, unless you’ve changed your mind.”
She laughed. “No way.” And then she reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m looking forward to it, too.”
I was halfway to the front steps when Mrs. Stevenson called to me, threading her way through the juniper bushes along the curb.
“Kate, I saw that car again.”
I laughed. “Colorful, isn’t it?”
“No, not that one. The one I told you about the other day.”
I stared at her blankly.
“And you were right, it was a Cherokee. Dark blue.”
Ah, that car! I’d forgotten all about it. “Did you get the license number?”
A frown crossed her face and she looked annoyed with herself. “I didn’t even think about that, I was too busy watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Mr. Livingston.” She waited until she was sure she had my attention. “I was dusting the living-room blinds when I happened to look out at the street There it was, parked right where it always is. I was shaking, I mean after our conversation and all. To see it there again, well, it just gave me the shivers.”
I nodded.
“But I checked the name just like you said. I was thinking how clever you were to get from Apache to Cherokee, when I saw Mr. Livingston come out to the end of his driveway to check for the mail. Then he walked straight toward the car. For a moment there, I was in a panic. I thought the car might suddenly gun its engines and run him down. Or maybe an arm would reach through a crack in the window and shoot him.” She punctuated her last sentence with a nervous laugh. “I guess I’ve been watching too much television, but with Mrs. Livingston’s murder and all, my mind’s been working like that lately.”
Her imagination may have gotten the best of her, but she was clearly enjoying it She looked over at the Livingstons’ house, or what you could see of it from our front porch, and shook her head knowingly.
“Anyway Mr. Livingston walked over to the driver’s side and leaned against the door like he was talking to someone through the open window. Then, a couple of minutes later, he came around to the passenger side and climbed in. About ten minutes after that, he got out and walked back to the house.”
“When was all this?”
“This morning, about ten o’clock.”
There were lots of explanations, I told myself, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the bad ones made more sense than the good ones. At best, it was odd.
“If you see the car again, try to get the license number. And call me right away. Okay?” She nodded, a fli
cker of disappointment crossing her face. Then I touched her hand. “You did a wonderful job Mrs. Stevenson. You’re very observant.”
She beamed.
~*~
Heather was lying on the floor, reading to Anna and Kimberly, when I let myself in. Fleetingly, I wondered how much her show of attention was an attempt to atone for past neglect.
“Mr. Livingston called to say he’d be a little late. Do you want me to stay until he comes?”
“That’s all right,” I told her, flipping through my billfold and calculating how much I owed her. “I’ll watch Kimberly until he gets back.”
“Thanks.” She took the money and stuffed it into a pocket. “Was the Wine Festival exciting?”
“I don’t know whether exciting is the right word, but I had a nice time.”
“That’s good. I know Mrs. Livingston and Mrs. Wilkens and the other ladies spent a lot of time getting it all organized. Chris says his dad thinks the whole thing is silly, but of course he wouldn’t dare breathe a word of that to Mrs. Wilkens.” Here she giggled self-consciously, covering her mouth with one hand. “Sorry. I forgot she was a friend of yours.”
Then, grabbing her purse and sweater, she waved to the girls and was gone.
After changing into a pair of gray sweats, I picked up around the house, which was not as cluttered as I expected. Heather hadn’t actually put anything away, but she’d done a conscientious job of stacking toys, books and dishes. Although I felt too full to eat any dinner myself, I fed the girls and sat at the table with them, sipping a cup of coffee while they ate.
“Aren’t you going to eat any dinner?” Anna asked.
“Not tonight. I ate too much chocolate this afternoon.”
“Did you bring me any?”
“No, honey, these chocolates weren’t for taking home.” Anna always likes it when I bring her the mints from my occasional lunches or dinners out.
“I got to taste the fudge,” Kimberly declared solemnly. “Mrs. Wilkens brought some over the other day and told Mommy to let me have some.” Her eyes, which had been wide with the memory of fudge, filled suddenly with tears and her lower lip began to quiver, but instead of crying she took a big bite of a hot dog and chewed solemnly while staring hard at the plate in front of her.