by Anna Drake
“Perfect,” I said.
“Sorry about the lack of snacks, but as I said, my slacks are getting tight.”
“You’ll hear no argument from me.”
Ginger trotted over with two coffee mugs, steam billowing from their tops. “Thank you.” I lifted the vessel and blew across its rim. “So did you learn anything about more about Treadway’s movements this afternoon?”
“Yeah.” Ginger pulled out a chair and joined me. “Your idea about the license plate panned out. The gal had made note of it, Treadway being a handsome stranger and all.” Ginger fed the number to me. “What are you going to do with the information?”
I withdrew a pen and small notebook from my bag and scribbled the precious number down. “I have a friend in law enforcement. I’ll run the plate past him.” I slipped my reporter’s equipment back inside my purse. “Cops spend a lot of time tracking what cars are parked where and when. Maybe my guy spotted Treadway’s vehicle around town sometime during the weekend.”
Ginger nodded with satisfaction. “See? I knew you were tight with Gossford.”
I scoffed. “My man isn’t Gossford. This fellow is with the county. He’s a hands on cop, who spends his shift driving local roads and keeping crime down.”
“Huh. I figured you for hanging out with bigger players than that.”
“You’d be surprised how good a contact he is for me. Patrolmen know a lot about what’s happening on their turf, and this guy covers the entire county. He keeps his nose to the ground.”
“You think he can help us?”
“I can ask. The odds are long but at least we have a source to check. He’ll keep us from having to resort to a Ouija Board. For the moment, at least.”
“So who is this cop friend of yours?”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you. He insists on anonymity. And for a very good reason. His boss would have his hide if he knew about us.”
Ginger picked up her coffee cup and rolled her eyes. “Mysterious.”
“Not from where I sit.”
“So what else can we do?”
“Josh mentioned something after dinner about having contacts in New York City. He thought since his pals are also accountants one of them might know something about Stepich’s family business. He may discover something for us.”
“There you go banging on Stepich again.”
I raised an eyebrow and scowled.
Ginger grunted. “Okay. As long as we’re looking at other suspects, too, I guess it makes sense to pursue Stepich. But I can’t see what his motive would be. He and Gary were best friends.”
“Who says best friends never kill each other?”
“Boy, you sure take a dim view of people.”
“I think we have to suspect everybody.”
“Even Josh?”
“Even him,” I replied uncomfortably.
“What about Cordelia? I overheard a heck of a row between her and Gary one night.”
“I can’t believe you of all people would ask that question.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cordelia loved Gary. She’s still reeling at his loss. Besides, you know what it feels like to be mistaken for a murderer. I don’t know how you could believe Cordelia could be capable of such a deed.”
Ginger sighed. “I thought most murders were committed by the spouse.”
“Gary and Cordelia weren’t married yet.”
“Near enough,” Ginger answered, her mouth downturned. “Besides, I don’t really think she killed Gary. I just thought the argument should be looked into.”
Now, who’s being hard-nosed, I thought. “Since we’re tossing suspects around, how would you feel about Bella?”
Ginger laughed. “Bella? That scrawny old woman? Kill a full-grown man? I mean the rumor on the street is that Gary was strangled.”
“The rumor is correct,” I said. Gary’s image from the rose bed flashed before my vision. I sighed.
“I’m sorry,” Ginger said, her face offering me sympathy. “I forgot you saw the body.”
I waved her apology away. “I’ll survive the experience. Anyway, Bella sure picked up on whatever it was that happened at that bachelor party.”
Ginger snorted. “You want to be the person who asks her what she was talking about?”
“I’d rather not, no. But since we’re looking into Gary’s murder, maybe we’re going to have to push ourselves beyond our comfort zone.”
“Do whatever you think you must, but I’ll sit this one out.”
Okay, I thought. I could handle that. But before meeting with Bella, I’d first take a run at Larkin.
***
I woke up bright and early Saturday morning intending to head out before nine to make my session with Larkin. I’d set the appointment up last night after returning from Ginger’s place. But before leaving our house, I ran into Dad.
I told him not to expect me home for lunch. He resumed his drill sergeant routine, pressing me about where I was heading and why. I came up with another set of lies to explain my wandering about the county. How adept I was becoming at telling whoppers was beginning to worry me. I suspected I wouldn’t feel like my old self until I could put this new aspect of my personality behind me.
At last, I made it to my Fiesta and fired up my faithful machine. My route that day took me straight westward. A cloud bank along the horizon ahead loomed dark and threatening. I hated to see it coming our way. Forecasters said the approaching system had a good shot at slamming us with high winds and heavy rain.
I thought about all the Little League games scheduled for this afternoon, some of which I was slated to cover for the paper. The storm had a good potential to ruin a lot of weekend plans, but it might give me a brief break from work, a thought I found somewhat appealing. My sleep deficit was beginning to catch up with me. A long nap sounded this afternoon just dandy to me.
I yanked my attention back to my driving and continued to wend my way along the black, macadam highway. The county maintained about two hundred miles of roads that cross-crossed the flatlands. They did a darn fine job of it, too, keeping the roadways smooth and well maintained.
After about ten minutes of traveling at speeds maybe a touch above the limit, I came upon our hidey-hole and turned onto the grassy plot. I headed my car straight for the old shed and backed out of sight behind the sagging building.
For once in my life, I’d beaten Larkin to a session. I killed the motor and settled back into my seat to wait. The engine made little cooling noises while I thought of the many times he and I had hooked up here. In some ways I wished our lives could be different. I couldn’t help but prefer he had less of a bad-boy reputation — and that I had less to lose if I loosened up some of my standards a notch or two.
But life is as it is. And wishing things were different almost never works. Dealing with the realities of life is the key to getting on in the world.
After about ten minutes of wallowing around in these speculative what ifs, I looked up to see Larkin pointing his big cruiser straight toward my windshield. I smiled and waved as he drew alongside me. He braked his cruiser. I scurried out of my car. Tradition was that I always joined him in his lair, although I never recalled the rule being specifically spelled out.
“Hello there,” he said. I swung the door wide and slid onto the seat. The radio squawked to life. The dispatcher chirped out a brief message. Larkin reached over and turned the volume down. “So I hear your new little playmate is headed home?”
“Josh?”
Larkin nodded.
Geesh, I thought, I’d only learned that information yesterday myself. How in the world could Larkin have known of Josh’s intended departure? But then that was how this man operated. He almost always knew things no one else did. That’s what made him so valuable a source for me.
I credited part of his talent to his job. Deputies liked to keep their fingers on the pulse of what was happening on their home turf, and they went everywhere. The other part of the equ
ation, I suspected, had to do with Larkin’s insatiable need for control. If knowledge equaled power, as some claimed, Larkin clearly intended to be its king.
I only wished I had as good a network of informants. I couldn’t help but drool at the thought of all the scoops I could dredge up for our newspaper. But reporters had to attend dry, Library Board meetings, noisy sports banquets, and the occasional dog show. Who had time left over to beat the bushes or spend hours over cups of hot tea. Adding insult to injury, I reminded myself that police work often paid better, too.
I suppressed a small sigh.
“So what’s on your mind this morning?” Larkin asked.
I stared into his light blue eyes and thought for a moment that I could lose myself in them. Then, I shook myself back to reality and tucked my lower lip between my teeth. I could hardly believe I’d returned to ask another favor of this man.
I tamped down my terror and stated my question. “Ah, I wondered if you’d share this license plate number with fellow officers and ask around if anyone happened to notice this car parked or driving around town the weekend of Cordelia’s wedding?”
“A license plate? Where did you get the number?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
He gave me an I-don’t-believe-this-nonsense stare. “Who does the plate belong to?”
“Don Treadway’s. You remember. We were all in high school together?”
“The nerd? Is that who you’re talking about. What’s he got to do with Cloverton? Last I heard he lived up around Chicago.”
Larkin even knew where Treadway lived? I couldn’t believe it. “For your information the man came to Gary’s funeral. You must have seen him.”
“Not that I can recall. And I think I’d remember him. He’d be hard to miss with those inch-thick glasses of his.” Larkin chuckled.
I smiled internally. Score one for my side, I thought. Larkin had been in the same room with Treadway. This was going to be fun.
I cleared my throat. “Oh he’s apparently dumped those thick glasses in favor of contact lenses now. Or at least that’s what I assume.”
“You spoke with him?”
“Well, sure.”
“What does he look like then?”
“Remember the Adonis who was trailing Cordelia about the room?”
I enjoyed a site I rarely see, a sagging jaw on the face of Allen Larkin.
“You’re… you’re telling me,” he stammered, “that neat looking man hovering around Cordelia that afternoon was Donny Treadway?”
“The same. And by the way he prefers to go by the name Don now.”
Larkin grunted. “I’d say from the way he’s upped his game, he’s earned the right to update his handle.”
I felt Larkin’s gaze honing in on me. “Why are you pursuing information on Treadway? This doesn’t have anything to do with Gary’s murder, does it? Because if it does….”
Dang. He was too bright for me sometimes. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. I already have the man’s license plate number. I’m not even asking you to run the plate for me, for pity’s sake.”
“Let me get this straight. You went out during while we were socializing after the funeral and made note of Treadway’s license number?”
I shrugged. “If that’s what you want to believe of me, so be it.”
Larkin shook his head and grinned. He leaned in close to me and clamped his large, warm hand beneath my chin. I suspected for a moment that he was about to plant his tempting lips on mine. The thought made me shiver.
“Melanie, I’ve already told you once,” he said, “I’m not offering you any help if you’re getting yourself mixed up in a murder investigation.”
Struggling to restore my composure, I shook my chin free of his touch. “I can’t believe this. Twice now you’ve turned down one of my requests. What gives? I thought we were buddies?”
“Then, pull yourself out of a rut and give me an assignment I can do without putting your life at risk.”
“Come on. Do you really expect me to buy into that silly argument?”
“Yes, I do. You’re messing with a killer, someone who has already taken one life. Historically, it’s much easier to kill the second time. And anyone in danger of being exposed by you would not think twice about wringing that pretty little neck of yours.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re making that up.”
“No, I’m not. And you’re too good a reporter to believe what you just said. You know I’m right. You’re not some uninformed goose. You make it a point to keep informed. Just like me.”
“Gee, thanks for the compliment, I guess.”
His gaze softened. “Anytime, Melanie.”
My heart thundered in my chest.
Oh, drats.
ELEVEN
The parking lot at Bella’s Place was only slightly filled when I arrived there at ten. Bella had told me this was the one of the few times of day she could take a break from official duties. Our session had to be sandwiched between breakfast and lunch. In some way, her schedule as she’d recited it, made me feel lucky to work news.
Our appointment was also the only part of my day’s tasks that was setting off alarm bells in my head. I was worried that I might offend a faithful advertiser. Dad said news decisions were never to be based on advertising dollars. But I doubted my present mission would quite fit Dad’s definition of news. And I knew the visit, focused on Gary’s bachelor party, fell outside of his current list of approved pursuits for me.
I sighed. Up to this point, I’d always been a dutiful daughter. I’d be glad when I could return to more normal behavior.
After a quick sigh, I flung open the door of the Fiesta and set off for the restaurant. Bella sat in her usual location. She wore a gold pants suit, trimmed with red buttons. Her makeup and hair was perfect and she was dramatically turned out in a yellow pants suit with red buttons.
She glanced up from a ledger she’d been studying as I her and smiled. “Good morning, Melanie. Give me a minute to send for Jimmy, and I’ll be right with you.”
“I’m sorry, I hope my timing is okay, and that I’m not inconveniencing you.”
“No, not at all. Sitting in my perch is good practice for my son. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“You hide your age well.”
Her smile widened, and she rose from her perch. I stood there waiting meekly for the changing of the guard. Jimmy joined us quickly and was soon properly installed. Bella led me through a large doorway into a small room, which I assumed was her office. There was a desk, several chairs, and an old-fashioned, large floor safe, the kind seen in old movies. She pointed me toward one of the smaller straight back chairs while she collapsed into the room’s only well-padded armchair.
“Oh,” she sighed, kicking off her shoes. “I’m getting too old for this job.”
“Nonsense.”
She managed to dredge up a small smile. “My dear, that’s sweet of you, but at my age, lies stand out as boldly as large neon signs.”
I felt my cheeks flush and wondered what Bella must be thinking of me?
“You wanted this session, my dear.” Bella stared at me kindly. “Now go ahead and ask whatever question it is that’s brought you here.”
“It’s about Gary’s bachelor party. I wondered what happened that night?”
A slow smile spread across Bella’s wizened face. She shook her head. “Melanie, I thought you knew better as a reporter than to ask such an open-ended question. Besides, a successful businesswoman never divulges her customer’s secrets.”
“Please,”I begged. “The rumors have even reached Cordelia’s ears. She’s so upset the thought that something bad might be tied to Gary’s special night that it’s hard for her to bear up under the weight of it now.”
“Then send Cordelia to me, dear. I’ll fill her in – gently and privately. I can assure you, however, that it’s nothing to distress her.”
Dang. I couldn’t think of any w
ay to work past that response. I didn’t want Bella talking to Cordelia. My friend knew nothing of the suspected misadventure, and I’d never intended she should.
I wondered if Bella already understand this and was toying with me?
I blanched. Paranoia was a new experience for me.
Bella smiled. “As long as you’re here is there anything else you’d like to know?”
I was never one to turn down invitation like that. “I don’t suppose you heard anything that might suggest what prompted Gary’s murder?”
“Sadly, no. Gossford has been here He’s interviewed me and my staff. Believe me, if any of us had any information we would have gladly shared it with the police.”
Her comment surprised me. I wondered what had sent Gossford out here to speak with Bella? I doubted he’d heard the same bachelor party rumors that I had. Could there be some other event or issue tying Gary to this restaurant? I remembered the large floral bouquet Bella and Jimmy had sent to the funeral. What kind of relationship had triggered that large a goodbye? Yet, neither of the them had attended the funeral.
I rose and offered Bella my hand. “Thank you. I appreciate your taking time to meet with me.”
“Any time, Melanie. I like you. And I like your writing, too.”
That little tidbit cheered me up no end.
On my way out of the restaurant I passed Jimmy. “Hope my mom proved helpful,” he said. “I’d hate to see a good-looking little gal like you leave here frustrated.”
I felt my cheeks flush. Was Jimmy coming on to me? Then I noticed his dark eyes sparkling as he apparently enjoyed his questionable joke. I suspected his mother wouldn’t have enjoyed his gambit. In fact, I suspected if she heard his comment, she’d have boxed her son’s ears.
I turned to Jimmy and raised my chin. “You’re mom told me exactly what I needed to know.”
“She did?” Jimmy’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “That’s good. I always like to play fair with reporters.”
I had the feeling my response had Jimmy worrying a bit over just what his mother had told me.