Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  It was about time I started using mine.

  From Britt’s question about Jonette, I surmised that she was already a suspect. It was time for me to do a little damage control for my best friend. “No. I already told you. She had to go to the bathroom. That’s why she was hollering. I was yelling because I didn’t want to throw up all over the car. There. Are you satisfied?”

  I was uncomfortably aware that Rafe’s fingertips were still under the minor swell of my size thirty-four B’s. If he had any thoughts of dating me, he would be checking out the merchandise. As it was, I wasn’t even sure he realized I was female.

  “Easy there, Red.”

  Rafe’s sexy growl brought to mind things best done on satin sheets. I shivered in response, then as his supple fingers tightened around my torso I had a rewarding feminine experience. All on my own.

  The unfamiliar thrill raced through my body at the speed of light and rendered me speechless. I savored the extrasensory burst of sensation like a dieter sneaking a forbidden slice of chocolate cake.

  If this man had this effect on all women, maybe the stories about him weren’t exaggerated. Maybe the word was out—why was I always the last to know these things—and the entire female contingent of the club had demands on his hands.

  I’d spoken to Rafe Golden probably a dozen or so times as I signed in for the Ladies League, and I’d never gotten so much as a hint of any unusual sensory powers. Now I was feeling like slipping him in my golf bag and taking him home with me. I already knew he had great hands. I glanced down and was thrilled to see his feet were larger than Charlie’s size tens.

  The old adage about the correlation between long fingers, big feet, and a certain male body part came to mind. In recent years, I had been paying more attention to those old sayings.

  Rafe Golden was looking better and better. But, there would be the problem of sharing him with the rest of the world. That wasn’t going to happen.

  I wasn’t about to be made a fool of twice. I’d just have to worship Rafe Golden from afar and settle for the odd thrill whenever he touched me.

  “Thank you for your help, Rafe.” I squeezed out a thin smile. “I’m fine now.” I wrenched myself sideways out of his grip and levered myself up on the warm hood of the squad car.

  I’d just discovered a dead man, learned of a friend’s murder, and melted because of a man’s touch. As mornings went, this one was an emotional roller coaster.

  Britt flipped open a notepad. “I’ll take your statement now, Cleo. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  I obliged him, leaving out the part where Jonette was sure she was going to jail for Dudley’s murder. By the time I finished, Jonette returned with the ladies from our league. I almost wept when I saw that she’d brought me a can of ginger ale. “God bless you,” I said as I took the can from her and opened it.

  Britt took Jonette’s statement. While Jonette spoke, I noticed the other ladies mobbing Rafe. Through narrowed lashes, I studied them covertly, wondering if they were all undergoing rewarding feminine experiences. I couldn’t tell a blasted thing. All I knew was that it annoyed me that they were hovering around him.

  Good thing he wasn’t mine. I’d have to constantly worry about sex-crazed women throwing themselves at him.

  Mental head slap. I didn’t want another man, particularly not one as sexy as Rafe. If I couldn’t hold onto Charlie, who had been the love of my life before he fell from grace, why would I want to put myself through the agony of wondering if I could trust another man?

  For kicks I tried our names together. Rafe and Cleo. Laughable, really. We didn’t sound like a couple.

  That was the downside of fantasies. When you took the next step and tried them on in real life, there were all sorts of problems. Things happened for a reason and you just had to go on to the next thing.

  Or at least that’s what I told myself every morning as I woke up alone. Then I made myself get out of bed, even though I’d love to spend the next twenty years lounging in my pajamas, but that would be taking the coward’s way out. I was made of stronger stuff than that, according to Mama, who at this very moment was charging across the fairway.

  I’d gotten Mama’s height and slender frame, Daddy’s red hair and green eyes. Today Mama wore her usual triple-stranded Barbara Bush pearls, along with a double-breasted navy-blue blazer, matching slacks, and sensible pumps. Her soft feminine disguise didn’t fool me. She’d be ordering everyone around in a matter of seconds.

  “Thanks a lot, Jonette,” I grumbled.

  Jonette shot me a thick grin. “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, do, Jesus! Cleo, my precious baby, tell me that you aren’t warped for life and that I’m not going to be stuck with those two hellions to raise,” Mama said as she swept me off the car and into her trembling arms.

  I rolled my eyes at Jonette. This was classic Mama. She managed to take any event and make it all about her. When I was undergoing the double trauma of adultery and divorce, she had the entire family hovering in a holding pattern outside her cubicle in the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit for days. “I’m fine, Mama. Dudley’s not. He’s dead as a door knob.”

  Mama released me and looked me over, worrying at my collar, adjusting my hunter-green golf shorts which weren’t hanging straight after my squeaky slide off the car. “Better him than me, baby girl,” Mama said. “I’ve got a lot of living to do yet.” She pried the ginger ale from my hand and took a swig. “How’d he die?”

  I glanced over at the body, which now rested in a black body bag, and realized that contrary to popular opinion, Mama did not have X-ray vision. “Gun shot wound. Right between the eyes.”

  Mama nodded in affirmation. “Serves him right. Bitsy should’ve shot him as soon as he started fooling around on her. This is what comes from amoral behavior. I swear, the whole country needs a refresher course on morals.”

  Bitsy was my other best friend. I couldn’t imagine her killing anyone. She had the patience of Job and the disposition of a saint. Both of which had been necessary while she was married to Dudley.

  I felt the color drain from my face. “Mama! Nobody thinks Bitsy shot him. She doesn’t even live here anymore.”

  Mama nodded again. “Even better. If no one thinks she murdered him, then she’ll get away with it. Although, I would have shot the man in his privates if he cheated on me.”

  I made a quick mental note to sell all of Daddy’s guns on eBay before Mama took a notion to fix Charlie when he came over to pick up the girls this weekend. In the meantime, I hoped she didn’t look under my bed, which is where I had all three of Daddy’s guns squirreled away.

  I fixed Mama with a grim glare. “If you don’t behave, Britt is going to arrest you for slander. I’ll tell him to throw away the key until you keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  Mama shrugged off the threat. “What’s the point of having an opinion if you don’t express it?”

  What was the point indeed? The girls and I had moved in with Mama when my marriage disintegrated and we’d been regretting it ever since.

  Twice I’d found us a nice three-bedroom apartment to move into. Twice we’d had health scares with Mama that turned out to be false alarms.

  I had a feeling that not even the Third World War would get us out of her clutches. She was very passionate about having us around, whether we wanted to be there or not.

  I strongly suspected her shenanigans were the result of having too much time on her hands. She stayed busy during tax time, of course, as January through April fifteenth was our busy season at Sampson Accounting. But after that, our business revolved around minor matters that didn’t keep the two of us occupied full-time.

  Not that I was complaining. If I worked more hours, I wouldn’t be able to golf in the Ladies League. Priorities were important. And I was my number-one priority these days.

  “Did you close the office?” I asked Mama.

  “Sure did. A trauma of this magnitude calls for at least one pair of new shoes.
”

  I shook my head in denial. “Mama, I’m a tight-fisted accountant. I don’t believe in new shoes.”

  Mama humpfed. “You might as well spend your money, Cleo. The government takes such a big chunk that what’s left over never seems like much. I say we hit every shoe store in Frederick. Lunch will be my treat.” She turned to Jonette. “You’re welcome to come along too, Johnsy.”

  Jonette’s eyes crossed from the effort it took not to throttle Mama for calling her that. Husband number three had dubbed her Johnsy and Mama had picked it up. So far, Jonette’s nickname had lasted five years longer than Roger Dalton. “No thanks. I’ve made other plans for the afternoon.”

  Mama stomped on Jonette’s foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t desert Cleo in her hour of need.”

  Jonette howled and jumped around on one foot. A string of unladylike words punctuated every bounce. “That was my good foot. Why did you do that?”

  “Allow me.” Rafe Golden scooped Jonette up into his arms.

  Jonette wasn’t in the mood to be soothed. “Put me down, you muscle-bound oaf.”

  Rafe took the hint and put her down.

  I searched Jonette’s face to see if she was in the thrall of a rewarding feminine experience after his touch. I didn’t see the slightest indication of ecstasy or bliss, so I decided not to murder Jonette in front of witnesses. But I did need to get Mama out of here before she started ordering the entire police force around.

  From a nearby treetop a bird sang out, purty-purty-purty. I most definitely didn’t feel pretty. I felt like I needed a shower and a new life. I gripped Mama’s elbow and tugged her forward. “Come on now, Mama. It’s not good for your heart to be getting so stirred up.”

  Mama sniffed copiously and dabbed at her dry eyes. She allowed herself to be steered towards the club parking lot. When Britt made no move to stop us, I assumed our leaving wasn’t a problem. After all, he knew where we lived.

  I led the parade back to my indestructible Volvo. I refused to ride in Jonette’s death trap and Mama’s ancient Oldsmobile navigated like a small ocean liner. It was the Gray Beast or nothing.

  So much for my hour of need.

  FOUR

  I nibbled at my free lunch. Mama had insisted on going to a discount store, and she’d sprung for hot dogs. Not my favorite comfort food, but I needed something in my empty stomach. “Sure you don’t want a bite?”

  Jonette snorted. “Heck no. Your Mama lured me here under false pretenses. She promised me a real lunch. Grabbing a hot dog is not my idea of comfort food. I need about two pounds of macaroni and cheese followed by a hot fudge brownie sundae. With real ice cream.” She pointed at my lunch. “No telling how old that hot dog is.”

  I shrugged. “Who cares? It’s got enough preservatives in it that it’d be safe to eat two hundred years from now.”

  Jonette gestured towards the industrial girders and fluorescent lights overhead. “Why are we sitting here? I don’t want to go shopping and neither do you.” Jonette narrowed her gaze at me. “This is all your fault anyway. I told you in fourth grade that Charlie Jones was trouble and did you listen to me?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to fling that in my face again? What about all those men I warned you off of? What about Lance and Nathan and Roger and Vern and Simon? I’d go on but I’ve run out of fingers.”

  “Hey. I only married three of those losers. And it wasn’t my fault they were all such duds. They were really good kissers.”

  My recent encounter with Rafe Golden had me feeling as if there was life in this dead wood after all. Dreams and hopes and wishes all seemed as possible as my next breath. “Speaking of kissing, have you ever kissed the golf pro?”

  Jonette gazed sharply at me. A slow smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’ll be darned. It’s finally happening, isn’t it? You’re noticing men. Good God Almighty. I’d dance a little jig but your mother smashed my foot. And no, I’ve not had the pleasure.”

  I licked the last of the mustard from my fingers. So much for Rafe’s involvement with every female golfer at our club. Hope flickered like a single candle in the darkness. “Me either. I didn’t even know I wanted to until today. For some reason, I want to jump his bones. Do you think my reaction is a springtime thing like sap rising in the trees and animals mating?”

  Jonette patted my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re such an animal and all that. But I have to warn you. Rafe Golden isn’t a training wheels kind of date. He has a reputation for getting around.”

  Part of me wanted to play it safe but the rest of me wanted to forget that I had good reason to be cautious. That reckless part of me was willing to pay any price to feel alive again.

  A stoop-shouldered woman with a screaming kid in her shopping cart wheeled past. I waited until I could hear myself think before I spoke again. “That is a problem. How would I know if he was sincere or if I was just the flavor of the week? God, Jonette. I feel like I’m in eighth grade again. Doesn’t this attraction stuff ever get any easier?”

  Her eyebrows arched up under her highlighted bangs. “You’re asking me?”

  I was a mother of two and I lived in the same house as my Mama, neither of which was conducive to a freewheeling singles atmosphere. Besides, Mama, Jonette, Charla, and Lexy all had ideas about the type of man that I should acquire.

  Mama wanted me to marry a billionaire, while Jonette thought anything with a Y chromosome was fine. Charla wanted me to get back together with her father, and Lexy, bless her, was trying to fix me up with the football coach at the high school. I, of course, wanted TV star Alex O’Loughlin, but he wasn’t knocking down my door.

  My gaze traveled down to my feet and I realized I still had on my golf shoes. I’d been doing a good job of not thinking about the events on the golf course until then, but that one glance took me right back to the number six rough and Dudley. Sitting there in the little hot dog alcove under fluorescent lights seemed every bit as surreal as the crime scene at Hogan’s Glen Golf Club.

  I’d have to tell the girls that Uncle Dudley was dead as soon as they got home from school. If I hadn’t left my cell phone in my golf bag, I could start making calls while we waited here. But I wasn’t the only one with a mobile phone. “Gimme your phone, Jonette. I should call Charlie and tell him about Dudley.”

  She shook her head. “Forget it. You’re not putting yourself through that. Bad idea. Very bad idea.”

  I knew it was a bad idea, but it needed to be done. Charlie and I maintained an amicable façade for the girls, but Dudley’s death would hit him hard. He didn’t have any family left to help him bear up under this strain. I owed him the common courtesy of a phone call.

  “Jonette, Charlie will come unglued when he finds out,” I said. “He needs to hear the news from someone he knows, not the police.”

  “Cleo, don’t do this to yourself. How can you forget for a minute that Charlie threw you away for Duh-nise? You don’t owe him a blasted thing. If you forget that, you’ll be stuck in his emotional backwash forever. Cheaters never change. They cheat, period. Don’t get sucked into thinking you’re doing him any favors. The man made his bed. Let him lie there.”

  Two gnarled old men circled the alcove, obviously annoyed with us for sitting in their spot. I shifted uneasily on the bench we occupied. There was no question I hated what Charlie had done to our family, but there had been sixteen years of good times. I couldn’t erase those memories.

  My head ached. Charlie’s betrayal of our wedding vows had cut deep, deeper than any hurt I had ever experienced, including natural childbirth. Jonette was right. Charlie Jones and his feelings were no longer my responsibility. “Sounds like you’ve got an ax or two to grind. Is this how you’ve managed to get on with your life?”

  Jonette’s lower lip trembled. “I feel for you, Cleo. I know exactly what you’re going through with Charlie. It feels like your guts have been ripped out and trampled. It feels like you want to curl up in a ball and check out. You start to
doubt everything about yourself, from your ability to tie your shoes to how you drive a car. Being tough is the only way to survive.”

  In that moment I wanted to lash out at any member of the male species. I glared at the old men orbiting our bench. From the way they started at my fierce expression, you’d have thought I was the Antichrist.

  I drew in a shaky breath. Did I want to go through the rest of my life scaring old men? Was that really me? “Being tough sucks. I want my old life back.”

  Jonette growled at the old men and they shuffled away. “Get a grip. Your old life is gone. This is your new reality. If you had your old life back, you’d be watching Charlie like a hawk, waiting for him to mess up, and he would. There’s no going back. Forward is the only way to go.”

  I hated that she was right. I wanted to stick my head in the sand and wake up when I felt whole again. That wasn’t going to happen. My marriage was past tense, and so was Dudley.

  Speaking of Dudley, I wondered about Jonette’s edginess around the corpse. Had Britt’s suspicions about Jonette had any basis? I cleared my throat delicately. “About Dudley. Is there anything I should know?”

  Jonette stared at the thronged checkout lines. “What do you mean?”

  “I have a feeling there’s something you’re not telling me about Dudley. Do you know why he’s dead?”

  Except for a sudden hitch in Jonette’s breath, you wouldn’t have known my question bothered her. “Sure do,” she said. “The man was a royal prick. It’s a wonder he lived this long.”

  “I know you two had your differences, but I was wondering if there might be something more going on. Was there ever a time when you wanted your name linked with Dudley’s?”

  Jonette leaped to her feet. “One little mistake. Where’s your Christian charity? It’s not enough that Bitsy hates my guts, you’re going to hound me about it all of my days.”