by Sharon Pape
Sierra’s exhilaration crashed over Jaye like a wave she wasn’t yet steady enough to negotiate. On a purely rational level she recognized that they’d succeeded in solving the case and proving their innocence. Everything had somehow worked out perfectly in the end, but she was still a bit too shaky and disoriented by the crazy highs and lows of the past hour to properly absorb what it meant and what they’d accomplished. On top of it all, there was a fleet of questions circling madly in her brain like planes awaiting clearance to land.
“We need to talk,” she said when Sierra finally paused to catch her breath. “And Daniel has some explaining to do.”
“Interrogate away,” he said with a grin. “I don’t have any tours scheduled till the afternoon.”
Sierra linked arms with him on one side and Jaye on the other. “Let’s go back to the bakery,” Sierra said. “There should be fresh blondies waiting, unless Ruth’s eaten them all.”
Chapter 35
The intended debriefing was scuttled by a call from George before they’d even taken a bite of their blondies. He had a group of walk-ins who were only in town for the day and wanted to book a tour of the red rocks. His own schedule was completely filled. Jaye and Sierra insisted Daniel go. He’d played hooky from work too often in order to help with the investigation. Now he needed to make his livelihood a top priority again.
“We’ll reconvene tonight at my place,” Jaye said with finality when he still didn’t seem convinced he should go.
“I’ll bring Chinese,” Sierra added, since it was his favorite. “Now scram!”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, still clutching his blondie in one of them. “I’m going, I’m going. See you tonight. I’ll bring the champagne.”
***
Jaye reached into the oven with her potholder and withdrew the pan holding the salmon, a quarter pound fillet just for Raffles. Even though Adam Grayson hadn’t turned out to be the killer, the not-a-cat’s help with the case deserved recognition. Using a fork, Jaye broke up the fish to check for any wayward bones and to help it cool faster. Raffles would probably have been happy to eat it raw, but Jaye didn’t want to take any chances. She couldn’t exactly look online to find out if not-a-cats should be given raw fish, so she’d decided to err on the side of caution. She put the salmon on a plate and set it down in front of Raffles. Without wasting a second to give it her usual sniff test, Raffles started devouring it, making appreciative smacking sounds as she did.
Jaye left her to enjoy it and returned to the living room, where her friends were waiting to dig in to the Chinese takeout. Sierra and Daniel were settled on the floor near the coffee table, claiming it was easier to eat that way. “Have a seat,” Daniel said, patting the floor beside him.
Sierra raised one sharp eyebrow at Jaye when her friend appeared to vacillate for a moment between the comfort of the love seat and the convenience of the floor. In the end, Jaye gave in to the eyebrow and eased herself down on the hardwood. When Sierra adopted a cause, it was generally easier to just play along until it ran its course. Although Jaye had started following her seating advice, nothing had really changed between her and Daniel. Which was fine. She didn’t want to ramp up their relationship if it meant potentially losing him as a friend if it didn’t work out. Sierra was a much more by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of gal who frowned on what she called “pre-worrying.”
Daniel poured champagne into the crystal flutes Sierra had brought along, because “Champagne doesn’t taste right out of a paper cup.” He raised his glass and toasted their success as well as the more important fact that they hadn’t been killed in the process. Then they filled their plates and ate silently for several minutes. It occurred to Jaye that she hadn’t been this hungry in weeks. Apparently, a carefree mind could be an amazing appetizer.
“Ummm,” Sierra murmured in a dreamy voice. “Mu shu and champagne—yummy. Who knew?”
Jaye swallowed a mouthful of warm, crunchy spring roll. “Speaking of knowing, Daniel, you wouldn’t by any chance happen to know how the detectives got wind of our operation today, would you?”
A sheepish grin tweaked the corners of his mouth. “Would you believe Brock is psychic?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“The truth is I wasn’t comfortable being your only backup plan, and I knew you’d never agree to bringing Brock and Anastos in on it if I asked you. So I didn’t. It’s that simple. I’ll accept whatever punishment you and Sierra decide on.”
“I recommend leniency,” Sierra said. “Seeing as how it’s his first offense.”
Jaye smiled. “You’re just lucky we’re in a forgiving mood today.”
Raffles wandered in from the kitchen, having presumably finished her salmon. She gave each of their plates a cursory sniff, then hopped up on the love seat closest to Jaye, yawned widely and went to sleep.
“I can’t believe she’s not begging for anything,” Daniel remarked.
“The salmon must have finally filled up that crater she has for a stomach,” Jaye said between sips of champagne.
Sierra set her fork down on her plate. “While you two were working this afternoon,” she began, “I packed up an assortment of goodies as a thank-you and took a ride over to police headquarters.”
Jaye and Daniel were instantly attentive.
“You know, before Peggy’s death I was friends with Theo and Cal. Well, Cal anyway. Theo’s always been standoffish. I’m still hoping we can eventually go back to the way things were between us. Sedona’s a small town, and it’s not a good idea to be locked in a cold war with the local police. When I arrived they were both busy catching up on paperwork, but when they saw what I’d brought along, even Theo let loose with a smile. Cal wanted to stretch his legs, so the two of us went out for a walk. He told me how relieved he was that you and I are finally in the clear. I asked him if Luisa had confessed yet, and he said she gave them a detailed account of what happened.”
“Isn’t that privileged information?” Jaye asked.
“It must be, because he swore me to secrecy. Said Theo would have his head if he found out I knew. So you two have to swear not to tell another soul until the police make an official announcement, or we’ll all be the cause of a beheading.”
“You have my word,” Daniel swore, hand on his heart.
“You can have my firstborn if I leak even a word of it,” Jaye one-upped him.
Sierra laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a threat.”
Jaye picked up the plastic knife from the Chinese food. “Start talking or the police will have another murder to investigate.”
“Yes, ma’am. According to Luisa, when she went to speak to Peggy, she brought along a knife and the white fur in case she couldn’t talk Peggy into selling. If she was forced to go with plan B, she was going to dump Peggy’s body at my house, because she knew everyone considered us enemies. She figured the police would focus on me without casting a wider net. As it happened, she didn’t even need to use the knife.”
“So, Peggy died in the fall?” Jaye asked.
“I’m getting to that. When Luisa was dragging Peggy into my yard, she started coming around. Since Luisa had taken the bloody rock along to dispose of, she used it to finish the job.”
“Things actually worked to Luisa’s advantage,” Sierra went on, “if Peggy had died from her fall, there would have been very little blood evidence at my place and the police would have known immediately that she hadn’t been killed there.”
“Then I guess it was the dog fur that was her undoing,” Jaye said.
Sierra nodded. “Oh, and one more thing you’ll find interesting. Peggy was in the Witness Protection Program. She testified against a former boyfriend who was well-placed Mafia-wise. It seems she had quite a knack for picking bad boys.”
“T
hat might explain why she hated you before she ever met you,” Jaye said. “It wasn’t just the competition. If her livelihood here failed, she might have had to relocate and start all over again.”
Daniel picked up the champagne bottle and refilled their glasses with more of the bubbly. “I actually have a little news flash myself,” he said. “Quinn was released. On my way here, I saw him outside his restaurant. The cops must be convinced he wasn’t involved in the murder.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Jaye said, “even if we’ll never be welcome in Finnegan’s again.”
“If he’s smart, he’ll go find help for his gambling,” Daniel added solemnly, and Jaye knew he must be thinking about his father’s alcohol problem.
“Hey, what ever happened with your art expert?” Sierra asked, the question pulling Jaye back to the moment.
“Oh, I called him when I got home this morning and gave him the all-clear to contact the police and bring charges against Adam.”
Daniel speared the last of the spareribs. “I wonder if Adam just blew all the money on living the high life or if he socked some away for his old age.”
“I bet he never once considered his old age,” Jaye said dryly. “Once he got a taste of the finer things, he probably never looked back or considered his future.”
Sierra sighed. “Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if they found some hidden bank accounts? Or mattresses stuffed with money? Then they could divide it up between everyone he defrauded.” Her friends started laughing. “What?” she asked, looking from one to the other. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re such a glass-full-to-the-brim kind of girl,” Jaye said, still grinning. “I think the best we can realistically hope for is that Adam won’t be breaking hearts or forging signatures again anytime soon.”
Daniel tossed the last bare bone on top of the others. “It’s a wrap, then. We’ve officially nailed our first case as PIs.”
“You mean first and last,” Jaye corrected him. “Right?”
“Amen,” he said.
Jaye noticed the little smile tipping up the corners of Sierra’s mouth. “What’s spinning around in that head of yours?” she asked her.
“Nothing, I swear. I just don’t know how you two can be so sure about what tomorrow might bring.”
“Sierra . . .” Daniel drew out her name like a warning.
“Okay, okay. Believe me, I don’t plan to go looking for any more dead bodies. Does that make you two feel better?”
“Not entirely,” Jaye said. Daniel just laughed and shook his head.
Sierra held up her glass. “One last toast.” She waited until they had their glasses in hand. “To awesome friends!”
“To an awesome family!” Jaye added.
Raffles chose that moment to open her eyes. She yawned and stretched her strange limbs, a reminder that they still had one more mystery to solve. Then the not-a-cat jumped down from the couch and settled herself in Jaye’s lap with a deep sigh of contentment.
Keep reading for a preview of Sharon Pape’s A Portrait of Crime mystery
SKETCHER IN THE RYE
Available from InterMix December 2013
When Rory found Hobo he was frolicking in the mud with the pigs. By that time she was half crazy with worry. Harper Farms covered thirty plus acres with indoor and outdoor nurseries, a produce store and bakery, a petting zoo with pony rides and since it was fall, a vast corn maze. There were too many places for a dog to hide, even a dog as big as Hobo.
She was so relieved to see him again that his mud-caked appearance didn’t immediately register with her. Hobo appeared to be just as pleased to see her. He bounded over and launched himself, landing with his front paws squarely on her shoulders. The impact knocked the wind out of her and sent her staggering backward until she slammed into the side of the barn. Pinned there, she was treated to an enthusiastic face washing, which she wouldn’t have minded under normal circumstances. But the pungent smell of pig and overheated dog rose from Hobo in a steamy wave that threatened to bring her breakfast back for an encore. She grabbed his mud-soaked leash and ordered him “off” in the most commanding tone she could manage. After several failed attempts, she wound up having to push him into obedience. By then she couldn’t be sure if he was finally listening to her or was simply tired of standing on two legs. In any case, once he was back on all fours he gave his coat a vigorous shake, the long fur spewing mud everywhere like a food processor at top speed without benefit of a lid. Being only a foot away from the eye of the mud storm, Rory got the worst of it. She was as muddy and stinky as he was, not to mention chilled from the stiff November breeze that had swept into the area while she’d been meeting with Gil Harper. In spite of it all, she started laughing. And for a couple of belly-aching minutes she couldn’t stop. She was glad there was no one around to see her reaction or they might have carted her off to a nicely padded cell somewhere. As much as she hated to admit it, Zeke was probably right. She really did need to hire a trainer for Hobo. She could just picture the marshal wearing his “told-you-so” grin that hiked his moustache nearly up to his sideburns.
What had possessed her to take Hobo along to a business meeting anyway? Oh yeah—a good, old-fashioned dose of guilt. Work had been taking her away from the house and her adjacent office so much lately that she was feeling bad about leaving him yet again. Of course he wasn’t completely alone in the old Victorian she’d inherited from her uncle Mac. Now that Hobo had adjusted to living with a ghost, and Zeke had worked out his own issues with the arrangement, the two could often be found engaged in a lively game of fetch, providing the marshal wasn’t too depleted from his own recent outings. Although his ability to manifest in full 3D mode had improved well beyond Rory’s expectations, and often her tolerance level, Zeke was still frustrated by the limits death had imposed on him for more than a hundred and thirty years.
“You should be grateful you can leave the house at all,” Rory reminded him one day when he was brooding about his situation. “Before I moved in here you couldn’t go anywhere.” Back when Mac had been alive, the marshal had partnered with him on his PI cases too, but always from the confines of the house. For some reason neither she nor Zeke could fathom, as long as she was with him or at the other end of his journey, he could now travel about. At least until sheer exhaustion pulled him bungee-like back to the house where he’d exhaled his last breath.
“Hey, glad to see you found your dog,” Gil Harper called out as he came around the corner of the barn and spotted them. The patriarch of the family business was tall, lean and fiftyish with blonde hair that was doing a nice job of masking the incoming crop of gray. “Looks like you’ll both be needing a bath though.” Although he sounded genuinely relieved that Hobo was okay, his lips were twitching as if he was trying hard not to laugh at the muddy spectacle before him. “Any idea how he got out of your car?”
Rory was wiping at the mud on her face with hands that were equally dirty. “Well,” she said realizing it was pointless, “I must have forgotten to lock the car. Then I guess someone came along and thought it would be a good idea to set him free. Either that or he grew opposable thumbs during the past hour.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Gil asked, backing away as he spoke. He might have had the best intentions with his offer, but his subconscious was clearly not onboard with them.”Thanks, but I’m afraid that soap and water is the only solution. The sooner I get us home the better.” With a tight grip on Hobo’s muddy leash she headed off in the direction of the car. But after the first few steps Hobo dug in his paws and refused to move any farther. He’d never done anything like that before. Rory gave the leash a sharp tug and ordered him to heel. The dog looked at her, then looked over his shoulder at the pig pen and whined.
“You have got to be kidding!” she said. “Are you begging for more time in the mud?”
Harper started laugh
ing. “I’m not laughing at you,” he assured her when he’d quieted enough to speak. “I think I understand Hobo’s problem.” He pointed to a little pig who was staring back at the dog and making a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal. “I believe what we may have here is a budding interspecies romance.”
Rory didn’t know whether to laugh again or cry. She couldn’t exactly scoop a dog of Hobo’s size into her arms and carry him back to the car.
“Let me grab Pigmalion and remove her from the equation,” Harper said, which was a much more realistic option. As soon as he and the little pig were out of sight, Hobo started whining again. Rory figured she could live with the whining as long as she could get him moving. In her most authoritative voice, she ordered him to heel and to her relief, he stood up and padded after her, his shaggy head hung low in resignation.
The parking lot had been almost empty when they’d arrived at eight AM, but now that it was close to opening time cars filled nearly half of it. The corn maze and petting zoo were big draws until the season’s first hard frost or snowfall officially shut down those attractions for the winter.
Rory and Hobo had nearly reached the car when the wind gusted, blowing from the opposite direction. Hobo stopped and raised his snout to take stock of the incoming air. Rory hoped it was a promising sign that he’d forgotten Pigmalion and was moving on to other interests. A second later she was nearly yanked off her feet as the dog raced helter skelter toward the corn maze. Rory managed to stay upright, but she could feel the leash slipping through her fingers. At the entrance to the maze, Hobo ploughed right past a group of teenagers about to enter it as the first visitors of the day.
“Coming through,” Rory yelled in case they hadn’t noticed she was attached to the crazy mutt who’d almost trampled them. Hobo sped on, taking the turns like a sailboat heeling in rough surf. On the other end of the leash, Rory was tripping over furrows and getting smacked in the face by dead corn stalks.