by Mary Maxwell
“I’m worried about my brother,” Sonja said.
“And we want to find out who’s responsible for our friend’s murder,” I added. “We won’t even mention your name, okay?”
“Ah, now that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” Carter said with a grin. “Like we’re suddenly best buds or something.”
“You don’t have to be so rude,” I said in a firm, steady voice. “We know that you don’t know us. But you we’re also aware that you know Warren. And he could be in a whole lot of trouble if the police think he’s responsible for the poison.”
Carter boomed a laugh that echoed through the narrow room. “That moron?” he scoffed. “That loser is a million miles from being responsible for anything. He couldn’t find his own butt if you gave him a map and a tour guide.”
I saw Sonja’s jaw tighten. Before she fired back an angry reply, I put one hand on her arm.
“We’re not here to debate Warren’s capabilities,” I said. “We just want to find the person that hired him to deliver the package.”
“Shouldn’t the cops be asking me these questions?” Carter said slowly.
“They probably will at some point,” I said.
“Then what are you two Betty Crockers doing up in here?” he asked. “Isn’t this kinda far from a PTA meeting or whatever y’all do on a normal Monday?”
I smiled and stepped closer. “Look, Carter,” I said. “We’d appreciate your help with this. Warren’s trying to make ends meet. Anybody can appreciate that. But if he somehow got involved in our friend’s murder, we’re trying to—”
“It was some blonde chick,” Carter said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Can you repeat that?”
“Some blonde wanted to know if I knew anybody who could deliver something,” he said. “She’s a rich bitch who knows one of my best customers. And before you ask, I have no idea how they know one another, okay? He called me up, said there was a special request and then he put her on the phone.”
“Who is she?” Sonja asked. “What’s her name?”
Carter laughed. “Oh, really? You think I’d actually be curious about her name? I’ve got my hands full here with this shop, lady. And in my line of work, I meet lots of different types of people.”
“Including murderers?” Sonja said.
“Hey, I can tell you’re pretty worked up,” Carter said. “But you need to dial back the passive-aggressive mumbo-jumbo. I’m trying to help out so you’ll both leave and let me get back to work.”
“What’s the other guy’s name then?” I asked. “Your friend that put you in touch with the blonde?”
With a mumbled string of expletives and another booming laugh, Carter told us to go back to where we came from. “I’m not giving you his name,” he said. “But I will tell you that she drove a black Escalade.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “I mean, if you don’t know.”
He plucked another tissue from the box on the counter. “Because she picked up Warren here on Saturday,” he said. “Right around noon or so. He came by and waited inside until she pulled up and honked. I never saw her. Never saw them together. And that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Did you see her—”
Carter held up one fleshy hand. “What part of ‘that’s all I’ve got to say’ do you not understand, lady?”
“She had one of them personal license plates,” the woman behind the counter suddenly offered.
Carter’s head whirled on his thick neck. “What was that?”
“The blonde you’re talking about,” the woman said. “You know those license plates that some people have? With little abbreviations or their dog’s name or whatever?”
“What was it?” I asked.
“Uh, you know, I only got a little glimpse,” the woman answered. “I was coming in to work about then, and I noticed the Escalade because it was so pimped out and shiny.”
“But you saw the plate?” Sonja asked.
The woman nodded. “Yep, but I don’t really remember the whole thing,” she said. “The first part was a word, like maybe ‘zebra’ or something.”
Sonja frowned. “Zebra? Like the animal?”
“Yep,” the woman said. “Although it might not have been exactly zebra. It could’ve been some other word and then a number.”
The door opened and a pair of teenaged girls came inside. They were like mirror images: slim and pale, with pitch-black hair and gold hoops through their noses.
Carter cleared his throat loudly. “Yeah, so this is all really fascinating,” he said. “But we’ve got a busy afternoon.” He motioned for the two girls to come over. “Hey, Brenda,” he said. “I see you talked your friend into it.”
One of the girls giggled and said something I couldn’t catch. Then they followed Carter through the black velvet curtain into the back of the shop. As he walked away, he gave us a slight nod of his head.
“Catch ya later,” he said. “Maybe next time you’ll be here to get inked.”
“I doubt it,” Sonja said under her breath. “Let’s get out of here, Jana!”
When we were back in the car, I checked my messages. There was one from Dora about Rosemary’s memorial service and another from my mother about a family reunion she was planning. After I listened to the latest update on the gathering, I dropped my phone into my purse and asked Sonja if she wanted to have a late lunch.
“That would be perfect!” she said, managing to smile. “How about that new Mexican place at Oak Woods Mall?”
“And it’ll be my treat,” I offered. “For doing all the driving today. And for being a girl’s best friend.”
Chapter 14
My husband was perched on the front steps when I pulled into the driveway around six o’clock. He was talking on the phone as I came up the sidewalk.
“…whenever you’d like, Mr. Truscott,” he was saying. “I can be there in the morning or we can do it next week.”
I gave him a kiss on his forehead and waited. It sounded like he was planning a meeting to finalize acquisition of Truscott’s company. When he finally said goodbye and slipped his phone into his back pocket, I gave him another kiss.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Strange.”
“How so?”
“Sonja and I were trying to find out who hired her brother to deliver the poisoned spinach dip,” I said.
Ben groaned. “What?” he demanded. “Where did you go?”
I pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry, big boy. We’re not going to do anything dangerous.”
He got up, climbed the steps and opened the door. “Let’s go inside and talk about this.”
I followed him into the house, headed for the kitchen and put my purse on the table. Then I plopped into a chair, slipped off my shoes and put my feet up.
“The boys will be here in a few minutes,” Ben said. “I don’t think we should discuss Rosemary with them around.”
“They’re not babies anymore,” I said. “At ten and twelve, they know about things like death and murder.”
Ben smirked. “Of course,” he said. “But I don’t think we need to stir up a bunch of questions that we can’t answer.”
“That’s why Sonja and I snooped around today—to get some answers.”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “You want a glass?”
“At least one,” I said. “After the day that I’ve had.”
“Tell me about it.” Ben poured some chardonnay into a glass and carried it over. “Where exactly did you guys go?”
I took a sip, sighed with pleasure and raised my drink in a toast. “Here’s to the best husband in the world,” I said.
Ben touched his beer bottle to the rim of my glass. “Thanks, babe. Now, let’s get to it; where did you go with Sonja and why should I not worry about you?”
“Technically, that’s two questions,” I said, smiling. “Which do you want me to answer first?”
&nbs
p; The way he frowned and shook his head told me to stop stalling. Even though Sonja and I felt safe when we visited Rusty Red’s and the tattoo parlor, I knew that Ben was voicing genuine concerns and the best way to diffuse the possibility of tension was to spill the beans.
“We went to Rusty Red’s,” I explained. “And then a tattoo place that’s owned by a friend of Sonja’s brother.”
He considered the information while taking a long pull on his beer. “And you missed work to do this?”
I nodded. “It’s fine,” I said. “Liz is the most understanding boss anyone could hope for. She’ll call me if she has questions, and she suggested I take a couple of days to process everything that’s happened.”
“Process?” Ben’s voice was jumpy, despite the calm expression on his face. “By going to a strip club and a tattoo parlor.”
I smiled, raising one eyebrow. “Nobody calls them parlors anymore,” I said.
“Oh, is that right?” Ben drank more beer, eyeing me warily. “Is that what you’re processing now?”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I said, feeling a faint swell of annoyance deep inside. “Sonja and I want to find out what happened to our friend. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” said Ben. “I just don’t want you to get involved in anything dangerous.”
I put my glass on the table and pushed up from the chair. Then I walked over, wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed the tip of my nose to his. “I’m not,” I said. “We went to those places just to ask questions. I’m not going to pretend that it made me a little anxious, but that’s mainly because of the reason we’re doing it.”
“And what is that reason?”
“I already told you,” I said, loosening my arms and stepping back. “Sonja’s brother delivered the poisoned dip. We want to find out who sent him and why they wanted to hurt Rosemary.”
“Maybe her brother’s the killer,” Ben said.
I shook my head. “Doubtful. The guy’s got a head full of rocks, based on what Sonja has to say. And he’s not wired that way.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s not a killer,” I explained. “Petty thief? Yes. Shoplifter? Absolutely. Mastermind of a plot to lace spinach dip with poison as a murder weapon? Not a chance.”
Ben frowned. “Well, I don’t know why you’re so certain. Murder isn’t stealing something from a store. It’s a crime of passion. Or rage. There has to be motive, opportunity and means.”
“Well, we know about the last two,” I said. “Some kind of poison that was delivered from Olive Street Café.”
“Did the detective confirm that?” asked my husband.
“That was the coroner’s initial conclusion,” I answered. “The tox panels were expected back either today or tomorrow.”
“Okay, so if it’s poison,” Ben said, “what’s the motive?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Who knew that Rosemary would be here on Saturday?” he asked.
I thought for a second. “Everyone in book club. And I suppose anyone that Rosemary might have told; members of her family, people at work, her other girlfriends, neighbors.”
“That’s a pretty large pool of potential suspects. Who would want to kill someone as nice and mellow as her?”
“That’s the baffling part,” I said. “It just seems so—”
“And why would they have known about the catered dinner that we were planning for Brock Truscott?”
The question stopped me cold. I’d been so focused on Rosemary’s death and the coroner’s preliminary supposition that I hadn’t considered something so elementary.
“Wow! That’s such a good question!”
Ben grinned. “See? I’ve paid attention all those nights when you’ve been watching CSI and NCIS and all those other shows.”
“I guess so,” I said, digging in my purse. “I’ve got to call Sonja and let her know.”
Ben finished his beer. “Can it wait?” he asked. “Matt and Sam should be here soon.”
I looked at my phone. Then back at the sideways grin on my husband’s face. I let the phone slip back into my purse.
“I’ll call her after we eat dinner,” I said. “Do you feel like going out? I didn’t take anything out of the freezer and—”
“Done and done,” Ben said. “I made reservations at that Italian place you like.”
“Russo’s?”
He nodded. “That’s it! Now, why don’t we go take a quick shower?” He took my hand and tugged me gently toward the hallway. “The boys are due home in…” He checked his watch. “…twenty-five minutes, give or take. That should be plenty of time to freshen up, don’t you think?”
Chapter 15
An hour later, we were tucked into a booth near the front of Russo’s Original, the best Italian restaurant in town. Matt and Sam were arguing about a video game while Ben and I enjoyed a glass of Chianti.
“I’m glad you agreed to this,” Ben said. “I actually had an ulterior motive.”
I smiled. “Are you talking about the shower?” I whispered.
“There was nothing mysterious about that,” he said. “I’m talking about Brock Truscott.”
I shook my head and waited for the rest of his explanation.
“He’s having dinner here tonight with his girlfriend,” said Ben. “There was something odd in his voice on the phone earlier. I just wanted a chance to maybe casually run into him and take a temperature on our deal.”
“You think he’s getting cold feet?”
Ben shook his head. “I’m not really sure. But there was hesitancy or something when we were talking. I just want to see if I can make sure it isn’t related to him selling us Zephyr Industries.”
I’d heard the company name a thousand times since Ben started negotiating to buy Truscott’s company, but it struck a chord after the conversation Sonja and I had with the woman at Skinny Skeleton Tattoos earlier in the day.
“What does Truscott drive?” I asked.
Ben made a face. “What?”
“His car,” I said. “Is it an Escalade? And does it have personalized plates?”
“Yeah, Zephyr’s fleet has company plates with identifying numbers,” he answered. “And they’re all black SUVs, but I’m not sure if it’s a Cadillac.”
I narrowed my eyes and leaned closer. “Then it’s very possible that Rosemary wasn’t the killer’s target,” I said. “They might’ve been after Tucker. And it may have been somebody that works for his company.”
The lopsided smile on my husband’s face vanished in a flash. He scowled, asked me to explain and I quickly filled him in on what Sonja and I learned during our conversation at Skinny Skeleton.
“And she thought the license said zebra?” he asked when I finished. “That’s a far cry from zephyr.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But we’re not talking about a nuclear physicist, okay? She’s a scatterbrained woman dressed in black leather and covered in tattoos.”
Ben chuckled. “Sounds like somebody’s being a little judgmental.”
“Give me a break,” I said. “You know what I mean. The last thing on earth that she’s thinking about is who killed my friend. But she definitely saw the SUV that picked up Sonja’s brother on Saturday. And it was a black Escalade with personalized plates that had one word and a number. She thought it was zebra, but I’m guessing it was zephyr.”
“Based on what?”
“Women’s intuition,” I said, lifting my wine glass. “Now, let’s focus on what we’re going to eat for dinner. That sound okay?”
“It’s about time,” Matt droned. “I’m starved!”
Sam groaned and clutched his stomach. “Yeah, Mom. When are we gonna eat?”
Ben motioned for our server, a roly-poly man with a pencil mustache. He zipped over, took our order and headed for the kitchen.
“Can you hold on for another few minutes?” I asked Sam.
He grumbled something and slouched in his
seat. Ben told him to sit up straight, a request that was met with another flurry of mumbled discord.
“If you can’t behave, we can leave right now,” my husband said.
Our son suddenly bolted upright and flashed a wide grin. “I’ll be good,” he said. “I really want to eat here. The food at home…” He paused, tipping his gaze at me. “Well, I’ll be good,” he added. “And I’ll zip it.”
He pulled his Game Boy from somewhere under the table and began tapping contentedly on the keys. Ben poked my leg and chuckled. “That’s one way to achieve a nice, quiet dinner.”
I shook my head, and was just about to say something when a tall man with a deep tan and broad shoulders suddenly appeared at our table. A rail-thin woman with dark hair and a plunging neckline that left nothing to the imagination clung to his arm with covetous fervor.
“Mr. Truscott!” my husband said, scooting out of the booth and shaking the man’s hand. “What a nice surprise!”
I’d heard about Brock Truscott so many times in the past few weeks that I wasn’t surprised he was a sleek, burnished package accompanied by a woman who would’ve been right at home in the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. They both looked primped and polished; expensive jewelry, trim figures and bleached teeth that glowed slightly as they grinned down at me and the boys.
“This must be…” Truscott began, clearly struggling to remember my name. “Ben’s wife and sons.” He reached for my hand. It was warm and strong as he gave me a firm shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Likewise,” I said. “Ben’s told me all about your company. It sounds like a very exciting time for everyone.”
Truscott nodded at the woman on his arm. “This is Amanda Winslow,” he said. “My fiancé and the future mother of my future children.”
The dark-haired woman looked at me with a watery smile. “A pleasure,” she purred, making it obvious that meeting me was anything but enjoyable.
“So?” Truscott said to my husband. “We’ll see you at the office tomorrow at nine?”