Book Club Killer

by Mary Maxwell

  I blinked in surprise. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I asked breathlessly. “That Eve joined the group so she could meet Rosemary and do harm to her?”

  “Well, I’m working on a couple of different theories here,” Ford answered. “For the time being, that’s one possibility that I plan to look into.”

  “I’m a little confused,” I said. “What could Eve possibly have against…” The distinct elements swirled in my mind until blending into one shocking thought. “Eve thought Rosemary was having an affair with her husband?” I whispered. “Is that what you suspect?”

  “Look, I’m sorry that I can’t say more at the moment,” Ford answered. “But my preliminary inquiries turned up some really curious possibilities. If you can sit tight for a while longer, I’m going to dig a little deeper.”

  Again, his cautious response made me think that he was now turning his attention toward Eve in the investigation. After a few more questions about her demeanor during the book club sessions, Ford announced that he was heading out to interview Eve about the case. He promised to call if he needed more information about anything, and asked me to be in touch if I learned anything that I thought might be helpful.

  “Who was that?” asked Dora when I got off the phone.

  “Detective Ford.”

  “What did you mean about Eve and Rosemary? I mean, you asked him if he thought Eve joined to—what? Get close to Rosemary or something?”

  “Well, he asked me about Eve,” I said.

  “What did he want to know?” Dora’s voice crackled with curiosity. “Does he think she’s involved?”

  I shrugged. “Not in so many words. But my instincts are telling me that he’s leaning in that direction.”

  “What about that other guy’s wife you mentioned?”

  “Brock Truscott?”

  She nodded. “Yes, didn’t you say he’s going through a messy divorce and there was a chance his wife could be behind the poisoned spinach dip?”

  “Right,” I said. “Detective Ford’s looking into that angle as well as the possibility that Eve is involved somehow.”

  Dora’s mouth fell open. “I just can’t…” She shook her head. “Do you think she could hurt Rosemary?”

  “I think anybody’s capable of anything,” I said. “Especially if they feel threatened in some way.”

  Dora smirked. “But Rosemary’s so sweet and kind. How could she possibly hurt Eve?”

  “I don’t know, but Detective Ford said he’s going to dig deeper.”

  “Well, he’d better be quick about it,” Dora said. “Eve’s leaving for Europe tomorrow.”

  The bombshell made me do a double take. “She’s what?”

  “Leaving for Europe,” Dora repeated. “Something about fashion shows and a getaway with her best friend from college.”

  “Must be nice,” I said. “If I want to get away from it all, the fanciest thing I can do is book a mani-pedi.”

  Dora smiled faintly. “I’m right there with you! I can’t say I know Eve all that well, but I’ve always been a little jealous of her wealth, their big house and everything else. I know they say money can’t buy you happiness, but it sure couldn’t hurt!”

  Chapter 19

  Later that afternoon, I was starting to prepare dinner when my phone chattered in my purse. I quickly left the romaine leaves in the sink, dried my hands and got to the call just in time.

  “Jana!” a high-pitched voice said. “It’s Sonja! My brother just left to meet whoever he did the delivery for on Saturday.”

  “Did he tell you that?” I asked.

  She explained that she’d deduced it from a call she overheard and a comment he made as he left her house. “I think we should follow him,” she said quickly. “I’m already in the car. I can pick you up in five minutes.”

  “Did you call Detective Ford?”

  “Yes, but it went right to his voicemail.”

  “And you left a message?”

  “No, I didn’t want to risk it,” she said. “If Warren’s meeting this person now, there’s a chance it would be too late if we wait for the detective.”

  “Where’s the meeting?” I asked.

  “At Rusty Red’s,” Sonja answered.

  “Okay,” I said. “Come pick me up. I’ll text Ben and let him know dinner will be late. Then I’m going to call Ford. He should know what’s happening.”

  Sonja agreed, blurted a few more things about her jittery nerves and then hung up. I put away the dinner things that I’d been working on before grabbing my purse. I was locking the front door when I heard a horn bleating from the end of our driveway.

  “I’m so glad you were home,” Sonja gushed. “I would’ve gone alone anyway, but it’s much easier doing it together.”

  “Exactly,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “If there’s a hail of bullets, maybe one of us will survive.”

  Sonja hit the brakes and the car jerked to a stop. “Are you kidding me right now?” Her eyes bulged and her face was bright red. “Do you really think that could happen?”

  I reached over and patted her arm. “Calm down. I was making a joke.”

  “A really bad one!” she yelped. “I’m already a nervous wreck thinking that my brother might be involved in a murder plot. I don’t need anything else to worry about.”

  During the rest of the drive to Rusty Red’s, I kept quiet. Sonja leaned forward on the seat, gripping the wheel tightly. Every few seconds, an fretful sigh escaped her lips.

  “Okay,” she whispered as we turned the corner toward the strip club. “There’s my brother’s car.”

  “I didn’t think he had one,” I said.

  Sonja glanced over and frowned. “He bought it last night,” she said, indicating an old sedan with a cracked windshield and dented hood. “Four hundred bucks for a piece of crap.”

  “And there’s an Escalade,” I said.

  Sonja squinted as she turned into the parking lot. “Yep. A shiny black Cadillac. Just like the one that Eve drives.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you know?” asked Sonja.

  “I always see her in a two-seater BMW,” I said. “A bright red convertible.”

  Sonja nodded. “She drives that, too. I think she’s got two other cars besides the BMW and the Escalade.” She slowed the car and parked at the opposite end of the lot from her brother’s car and the gleaming black SUV.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “We go inside,” Sonja said, turning off the engine and grabbing her purse.

  “And then?”

  “We find out who my brother’s talking to,” she said. “If he was telling me the truth, it’s the same person that paid him to deliver the poisoned dip to your house. And that would mean that it’s the person responsible for killing Rosemary.”

  She climbed out of the car, closed the door and waited for me to join her on the cracked asphalt.

  “Let’s go!” she called. “Why are you moving so slowly?”

  “I just don’t know if we should,” I cautioned. “If what you just said is true, they’re not going to be thrilled to see us.”

  “Well, it’s a free country,” Sonja said. “Maybe we were just thirsty and wanted to have a drink.”

  I narrowed my gaze and smiled. “Really? Do we look like regulars at Rusty Red’s to you?”

  She huffed and turned on her heel. “Well, I’m going in,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re welcome to join me or you can wait out here. I want to get to the bottom of what my brother’s up to and see if I can stop him before he digs an even deeper hole for himself.”

  I hurried across the parking lot to catch up. Sonja swung open the door, glanced back at me and waited until I was beside her.

  “Here goes nothing,” she said under her breath.

  We stepped into the dim bar as a Bon Jovi song began blaring from the speakers. The place was fairly busy; groups of men lounging around tables, a few scattered singles at the bar, and one
slim girl on stage bumping and grinding to “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

  “She can’t dance,” Sonja muttered. “But at least she’s pretty.”

  I smiled at the offhand remark and followed her to the bar.

  “What can I get you ladies to drink?” asked the bartender. He was tall and lanky with buzzed red hair, scruff along his chin and a gold hoop through both earlobes.

  “Do you know Warren Davis?” Sonja demanded.

  The bartender chuckled. “That a new drink all you housewives heard about on TV?”

  I clenched my teeth and resisted the urge to say something sharp. “It’s her brother,” I announced. “His car’s parked outside.”

  The guy sneered. “Lots of cars are parked outside.”

  I caught a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to get a better look, I saw a svelte woman dressed in a Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress. I’d never paid more than a hundred dollars for an outfit, but I read enough fashion magazines to recognize the designer sheath. I’d also never met Brock Truscott’s wife, but something in my gut told me I was looking at her. I kept my eyes on the flouncing curves of her body as she paraded along the side of the room toward a booth in the corner. The seatbacks were high enough that I couldn’t see who else was sitting there, but the willowy vixen smiled at someone as she sat down.

  “C’mon,” I said, grabbing Sonja’s arm. “I think I just found your brother.”

  Although she wasn’t quite finished glaring at the bartender, Sonja followed me across the bar. When we approached a table surrounded by men wearing grease-stained coveralls, one of the guys whistled and said something rude. Sonja was so fired up that she stopped and turned, but I nudged her away from the testosterone zone and kept walking.

  When we got close to the booth, I stopped and leaned close to her. “It’s that one over there,” I whispered, pointing at the last table. “I think Brock’s wife just sat down. And if my theory is right, your brother will be there, too.”

  As we edged closer and the occupants of the booth came into view, I realized that our theory was only partially correct. In addition to Sonja’s brother and the blonde I suspected to be Brock’s wife, the booth contained a third individual who was clearly unhappy to see us. It was Eve Walker, leering at Sonja and me like we had three heads and hooves instead of feet.

  “What are you doing here?” Warren asked his sister.

  Sonja narrowed her gaze. “I could ask you the same thing,” she snipped before twirling her eyes toward Eve. “And you!” she continued. “You of all people—involved in the murder of someone who trusted you as a friend.”

  Eve casually raised her martini glass and took a demure sip. “Ah, poor, pitiful Rosemary,” she said. “I have no idea how you think that I’m responsible for such a terrible thing.”

  The blonde in the DVF dress scoffed. “Eve? Who are these women?”

  “Two losers,” answered Eve. “They’re part of that silly little book club that I told you about.”

  The other woman glanced at me. “What do you want?” she asked. “Can’t you see this is a private conversation?”

  Sonja stepped toward the booth. “And can’t you see that we don’t care?” she demanded. “I’m here to get my brother before you two bitches get him into any more trouble!”

  Eve snickered. “Now, now, Sonja,” she said in a high-pitched voice that was laced with disdain. “Why don’t you go and have the bartender make you a cocktail? Seems like your nerves are a bit frayed, darling.”

  Sonja inched closer. “And why don’t you go to hell? We know that one of you hired my brother to deliver the poisoned dip that killed Rosemary.”

  Brock Truscott’s wife burst out with a loud laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever—”

  “Zip it!” I said, joining Sonja beside the table. “We’ve talked to enough sources to know that someone driving a black Cadillac SUV met my brother on Saturday before he came to my house with the tainted spinach dip.”

  Eve hoisted her martini. “Well, congratulations!” she hissed. “Look who’s being our very own Nancy Drew.” She took more of the drink and then put the glass on the table. “Whatever gibberish you’re spouting, none of it can be proved. It’s all conjecture and nonsense.”

  “Warren!” Sonja called. “Get up and come with me!”

  He shrugged. “Thanks, sis. But I’m comfortable right where I am.”

  Sonja heaved a sigh. “Come on, Warren,” she pleaded. “Can’t you see what’s going on here?”

  He glanced at Brock Truscott’s wife and Eve Walker. “Yep,” he said. “I’m having a drink with two very lovely ladies.”

  “With two murderers!” I said sharply.

  “There’s that word again,” Brock’s wife said. “You throw it around rather haphazardly, don’t you?”

  I kept my eyes on her while she smiled at Eve and Warren. They sat mutely, with faint smiles of smug satisfaction on both of their faces. After a few awkward seconds, Sonja called again for her brother to leave.

  “Nope,” he said. “Why don’t you and your little rat terrier skedaddle?”

  Eve Walker chuckled. “Rat terrier?” She flashed a wide smile at me. “Did he just insult you, Jana?”

  I felt the fury boiling in my chest. I wanted to reach out, grab one of the drinks and splash it in her face. Instead, I took a step back and pulled out my phone.

  “Who are calling now?” Brock Truscott’s wife said. “Reinforcements from the dog pound?”

  A corrosive laugh followed her remark as Warren and Eve joined in the juvenile humor. I started to dial Detective Ford’s number when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and nearly dropped my phone when I saw him standing a few feet behind us.

  “W-w-what are you doing here?” I stammered.

  He came closer with a confident tilt of his chin. “I was stopping by to ask a few questions,” he said discretely. “And then I saw you and Sonja talking to…” He turned to the trio in the booth. “Well, I recognize you, Mrs. Walker,” he said, nodding at Eve. “But I’m afraid that I haven’t met your friends.” He paused again briefly before addressing Brock Truscott’s wife. “I’m Detective Max Ford,” he continued. “And you are…”

  The slinky blonde pressed her lips into a phony smile. “Not interested in meeting any strangers this afternoon,” she said coldly.

  “That’s a pretty long name,” Ford said confidently. “How do they fit all of that on your driver’s license?”

  When Truscott’s wife realized he wasn’t easily swayed or intimidated, she gave Ford her name. “Will you leave now?” she added. “Or do you plan on being a pest all day?”

  An easy smile appeared on Ford’s face. “Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Grace Truscott.”

  “I can’t say that I agree with that,” Brock’s wife muttered.

  While she glared daggers at him, Ford glanced at Sonja’s brother. “And you, sir?”

  Warren gulped nervously. “I’m her brother,” he answered with a quick nod at Sonja. “Name’s Warren Davis.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Davis,” Ford said. “I actually had you on my list for later in the day.”

  Warren smirked. “What list?”

  “People I’d like to talk to,” answered the detective. “You see, I’m investigating an incident that took place on Saturday afternoon. You were mentioned as a person of interest, so I—”

  “The only thing he’s interested in is laziness,” Eve snapped. “That’s what we’re all doing here—trying to get this lump of lard to actually follow through on his promises.”

  Ford’s grin vanished. “What did he promise you?”

  “It’s nothing really,” Eve said. “At least, it’s nothing that a detective would care to know.”

  “Try me,” said Ford. “I’m interested in lots of different things.”

  The tone of the conversation was making me uncomfortable. Just watching Ford banter with the three
reluctant subjects in the booth made me feel uneasy. When I glanced over at Sonja, I could tell from the way she was nibbling on her lower lip that she felt equally on edge.

  “Can I ask you a question, detective?” Eve said.

  Ford nodded. “Absolutely, ma’am. What is it?”

  “Do you have a point?” Eve smiled at Sonja and me. “Or is all of this just to impress these two idiots?”

  In a flash, I no longer felt jumpy. I was suddenly very calm and composed as Ford’s body language shifted from relaxed and even-tempered to commanding and powerful. His shoulders looked broader, he seemed taller than before and the look in eyes blended precision with authority.

  Waiting for Ford to respond, it felt like time had slowed to a crawl. As I glanced around the room, I saw two uniformed officers standing near the bar. While the other patrons in Rusty Red’s didn’t seem very curious about the strange confrontation between Detective Ford and the three occupants of the booth, the two cops were watching intently.

  “You know what, Mrs. Walker?” Ford said finally. “I actually do have a point.”

  Eve fluttered her eyelashes. “Do tell,” she purred.

  “I’d like to invite the three of you to the station so we can talk in a more private setting,” Ford said.

  The expression on Eve’s face remained indifferent, but her hands began to twitch slightly. Even though I didn’t know her well, I’d spent enough time in her company to know that the tick was related to anxiety. She’d demonstrated it once telling a very distressing story about a childhood accident involving her and two siblings. And I’d seen it another time when she talked about the difficulty her family experienced during a turbulent flight from New York to Rome.

  “But I’ve got a hair appointment after this,” Eve spluttered, glancing anxiously from Brock Truscott’s wife to Sonja’s brother.

  Detective Ford frowned. “I’m afraid you’ll need to reschedule that,” he said. “Now, the two officers over there will be happy to escort you to—”

  Brock Truscott’s wife suddenly lurched from the booth. “It was all her idea!” she shrieked, pointing at Eve. “When I told her about my husband’s plan to change his will, that witch told me that we—”