by Wendy Byrne
Time to get going.
I headed for Gabe's house, as I'd spotted his porch light on, and pounded on the front door. When he opened the door, I stumbled inside, my heart galloping out of control.
"What the hell, Izzy…"
I'm not too proud to admit, I threw myself into his arms. Hey, it had been a long day of biker bars, mysterious cars, getting hit on by possible murderers, and random strangers popping up out of nowhere. Don't judge. "Close the door. Quick. Someone's chasing…" My pulse had to be in the stratosphere as I drew in a breath, pushing back thoughts of trying to explain my case of nerves and over-the-top paranoia without telling him what happened at Miller's Pub. This might be a feat I hadn't been able to master quite yet.
Just like a man, he did something totally stupid and unlocked the door and yanked it open to peer outside. I slammed it shut, barely missing his fingers in the process. "Are you crazy? They might have a gun."
He cradled my shoulders and forced me to look at him. "What's going on? It's nearly one in the morning, and you're saying someone's after you. I think you'd better start from the beginning."
Which beginning? The one where he'd want to strangle me or the safe one? "I was coming home when someone grabbed me. I hit him with my nunchuks—well technically your grandmother's nunchucks— and ran."
His eyebrows creased in the middle. "I'll forget about why my grandmother gave you her nunchucks for now. Did they say anything? What were you doing tonight that might have ticked somebody off? What did they look like?"
I shook my head, unwilling to fall into the trap he'd laid out for me. "They mumbled something about where is it. But I didn't stick around to ask what they were talking about. And it's really dark on the staircase, so I didn't get a chance for a good look. I probably need one of those motion-activated lights outside my door." Now that I felt moderately safer, I gave him the evil eye. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"I heard you went to Hell's Tavern."
What the heck? "Did you or Nate put a tracker on my car?"
"Snake's sister was in the station filing a complaint against her ex and told Nate what happened. He called me to ask if I'd talked to Viola. But I faked like everything was fine, and you'd taken a wrong turn on the way home." He had that PO'd look on his face. "For the record, I don't lie to Nate, so what I told him better be accurate."
I had a half a mind to go stomping out of his house, but I wasn't stupid. The guy from my apartment could be hanging out waiting for me to return.
I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Gus called me while we were in Iowa City looking for Joseph and asked me to talk to somebody named Buddy at Hell's Tavern." I shrugged to make the whole situation appear innocent even though…yeah…we were guilty as sin for once again interfering in an investigation.
"Gus? The guy who is the prime suspect in the murder of Lori? That guy?" He was playing with me by mansplaining, which only got my back up.
"You know something, Gabe?" Of course I didn't wait for him to respond—he wasn't the only one who could mansplain. "I get you're worried. But I'm a grown woman and can make my own decisions." I held up my hand to stop his protest. "And before you think about saying anything about stuff that really isn't your business, I'm going to tell you, I get it. I get why you're worried about Viola, me, and the rest of the ladies, but that doesn't mean we're not adults with our own ability to figure things out and stay out of danger."
He folded his arms across his chest. "You trust Gus." His comment smacked of disgust.
"I do. I get that you have some history because of your dad. And I'm trying to be sensitive to that. But, for heaven's sake, your grandmother isn't making any judgments about Gus based on what your dad did, so I don't understand why you feel the need to." A mix of emotions passed before his eyes—hurt, anger, and sadness—as evidenced by the mist of tears swimming around the edges.
"I'm…" He blew out a breath. "I guess I'm not sure where this leaves us." He shrugged as I felt the wedge deepening between us. "I don't want to worry about you."
"But you have a choice about that, don't you?" To soften my words, I gave him a kiss on the cheek.
His breath became slow and even. I could practically see his mind sifting through what I'd said, and based on his expression, he didn't know what to think.
"Do you want me to call Nate and tell him what happened?"
I shrugged. "It can wait until morning. Besides, I'm fine." I peeked out the window. "But I wouldn't mind if you'd drop me off."
"How about you spend the night in my spare room? I'll take care of putting in that outside light for you in the morning." Spare room made the sleeping arrangements clear.
"Sounds perfect. And thank you, Gabe." I didn't relish the idea of going to my place alone and was glad Gabe and I were at least on the same page.
Still, a persistent unease had settled between us once again. I didn't expect it would go away any time soon.
* * *
By the time I woke up the following morning, Gabe had already left. Just as well. That way we avoided the awkwardness.
After I chatted with Nate and told him about what had happened last night, I stopped at Otis's and talked to Jeremy about the possibility of a Spring Fling party in the very near future. I told him it was to celebrate my move as well as try to get a renter for my retail space. He bought my explanation without many questions and said he'd talk to his dad but figured they'd be all in. Then I drove to Viola's to share all that I'd been up to, including my earlier phone call. As expected, the ladies were waiting for me to arrive and give them the scoop on last night's fiasco since they'd already heard about it from their contacts at Nate's office.
After I ushered them into my car, I filled them in with details and explained what I'd done earlier and where we were headed. "I set up an appointment with Peter Daniels to do my tax return. While I'm there, I'm going to get a feel for his guilt or innocence and figure out if he's hiding anything."
"Sounds like a good idea, but where do we fit in?" Alice asked.
"Maybe you could scout out the diner and get some gossip. If they have one of those office stores in town, we could put together flyers to get the word out about our Spring Fling event and hang them up in places like the diner and other hot spots."
"That's a great idea," Ramona said.
I dropped the ladies off at the diner and drove to Peter's office for my appointment. The door signaled my arrival, and he came to greet me.
A nice-looking man in his fifties, he looked like he might have been an athlete in high school or college and still visited the gym on a regular basis. Rather than a suit and tie, he wore jeans and a Mizzou sweatshirt.
"I guess you're one of the few people in Iowa who went to a rival college," I remarked, trying to break the ice.
"It's called a football scholarship. I take money over state loyalty any day." First impressions made me think he seemed pleasant enough. I saw no reason to suspect him of murder. If I pushed some buttons, I might be able to get more information on his real personality.
"Thanks for fitting me into your schedule. I came into some money lately and want to make sure I'm doing the taxes right. I never did trust those online programs."
"I'm pretty sure I have job security."
"I guess that's a good thing."
"What's your occupation?"
"I'm an artist. So the 1099s are from sales of artwork. The other is an account that was given to me."
While he typed information into his computer, I snooped around the place for clues or anything suspicious to grasp onto. So far I was batting zero.
"Are those pictures of your family?" Photos were aligned on top of the back credenza. He glanced up from inputting my information and smiled. "Yes, my youngest is off to Harvard in the fall."
Three smiling girls were mugging for the camera and looked to be in the middle of a hike based on the terrain and their clothing. They looked both happy and healthy.
"Sounds like you'll need
a lot more clients to cover that tuition bill." Yes, I was fishing, not that I thought money had anything to do with the murder but figured I should explore all options.
"The kids college cost is covered by a bequest from my wife's family after her death."
"I'm sorry to hear about your wife. That's great that your in-laws were so thoughtful."
He gave me a weird smile. "They wanted to keep the money out of my hands and funnel it right to the kids. They don't care much for me. They're good grandparents and are generous with the girls, so I can't complain."
That made me laugh for some reason, and I found myself liking this guy, which I hadn't expected. "You seem like a nice man." I was doing a little bit of overreach, but I felt a need to support him for some odd reason—maybe it was the whole widower thing.
"An accountant who went to Mizzou on a football scholarship would never be good enough for their princess." A hint of bitterness wove through his tone, and I sensed something might be there, but I didn't think I could scratch the surface anytime soon.
"That's a shame."
The front door opened, and a woman called, "Peter, are you here?"
He straightened and pushed back from the chair. "In my office, hon."
I smiled despite the fact his smile had gone a little shaky. It was almost as if he was afraid of the woman, which I could only assume was his significant other.
The woman walked through the door and gave me an assessing glance that came complete with eye roll.
Ouch.
"Who are you?"
I put on a phony smile as I studied the woman who looked closer to my age than Peter's. "I'm Isabella Lewis. Peter is working on my tax return."
"I'm Margaret, his fiancée." While she didn't add and don't you forget it, it was written all over her face.
The guy looked a little scared of her. I had to admit I was the tiniest bit curious as to why. His first wife was dead, and now this much younger woman was his fiancée. Hmmm…that would make anyone curious.
"I'm finishing it up."
Margaret placed her hands on her hips and gave him a pointed stare. "You know Daddy will be disappointed if we're late to the club. And here you are dressed like a homeless person." She tsk-ed like she was his grandmother rather than his fiancée.
Despite the tension brewing in the room, Peter finished my return in record time and printed out a copy for me while he electronically filed it. "Thank you for doing this on such short notice." I grasped the copy. "If you two aren't doing anything on Saturday, we're having an impromptu celebration called Spring Fling in downtown Inez. You're both welcome to come."
Based on Margaret's dour expression, I wasn't sure they'd take the bait. Maybe I had to do a little more selling. "I'm an artist, so there'll be a great compilation of works from some of my friends for sale. Otis's Bar is working with us and setting up a beer garden, plus face painting and magic and games for the kids. And, of course, some bingo."
"Sounds like fun. We'll be there if we can," he answered.
"Hope to see you there."
Could Peter have been cheating on Margaret with Lori? Could Peter have killed off his first wife for this Margaret not-very-nice-person? Did it all come down to money? That was my real question. But it didn't really add up.
I figured there was only one way to get the answers. I smiled as best I could, paid my bill, and shuttled off to find the Qs at the diner and fill them in on what I'd learned.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It wasn't difficult to find the Qs, even in the noisy diner. I followed the hoots and hollers and spotted them in the back with the waitress from the other day, Trixie. The name Nellis was embroidered above the pocket where her badge usually was. I wondered if that had been the original name of Midtown Diner. In another lifetime, when I didn't have so much to worry about, I might have explored the history. But not now.
"Hi ladies, what's been going on?" I slid into the booth, still a bit confused about my encounter with Peter and his fiancée Margaret. They seemed like a really odd match, making me want to know more.
"Trixie's filling us in on the local gossip," Alice said.
"And was able to put together an amazing flyer for the Spring Fling." Viola showed me what looked like a professionally done flyer that could have been set up by a graphic artist. Who would have thought a woman in her fifties would have such mad computer skills? Then again, that's what I got for stereotyping.
"This looks amazing."
"It's a hobby for me. I've picked up a few computer skills along the way during my downtime here." Trixie shrugged. "I put it together in a few minutes on my iPad and then printed it out. All you need to do is take it to the copy place down the street and they'll be happy to make more up for you. I'll send you the file via email if that will work."
"That would be perfect."
"Isn't she a peach?" Ramona remarked, eliciting a round of head bobbing from the others.
"I hope that means you'll come," I said, more to be polite than anything else. Chances were, she'd be working.
"Wouldn't miss it."
I looked around and saw other waitresses scurrying around grabbing orders and filling coffee while Trixie sat and chatted with us. She must have been there a long time to not catch any grief. Either that or she didn't care. Based on her attitude, I was betting on the latter.
"What did you think of Peter?" Viola asked.
I was surprised to see Trixie seemed as interested in my information as the Qs. No doubt, like the Qs, she thrived on gossip. "He was soft-spoken and even-tempered. I don't see him as the killer."
"He's got a young girlfriend." Trixie cleared her throat. "Excuse me, fiancée is what she's saying when she flashes that big honking ring."
"He mentioned something about his wife dying."
Trixie raised her eyebrows. "It's been a couple of years. There was some suspicion about her death, but in the end, they ruled it natural causes."
"She couldn't have been that old when she died. What kind of natural causes?" I asked as I tried to fit the pieces together in my head. Maybe there were some hidden facets to Peter's personality that hadn't been revealed in my brief encounter.
"She had a long history of asthma, starting when she was a kid. I knew her and her family for years. They didn't much care for Peter. Said he got her pregnant on purpose so he could rob them blind."
What he'd said about the kids' endowment made sense after that comment. They'd had it in for him since the beginning. Still, between the happy family pic of his girls, along with his laid-back nature, it didn't fit together in my head. Then again, I'd only met him once. I could have been mistaken by my first impression. Trixie seemed so adamant about it, I had to believe it was true.
"How about this Margaret woman?"
"Girl, you mean?" Trixie responded with a chortle. "Her dad's loaded too. It doesn't take a genius to see the pattern."
"But he must love her to marry her, don't you think?" I asked, while thoughts of my own marriage fiasco rumbled through my head. Though I hadn't married Joseph for his money, as we'd both come into the marriage with our own family wealth—or at least I thought so.
"He loves her money for sure. Some things never change." Trixie shook her head.
"But why? Even in a small town, I imagine accountants make a decent living."
"He had a gambling problem and practically lived at the casinos for a while. They found him at the gambling boats on the day his wife died. Guess she was sick, but he didn't seem to care. As a single parent, he finally faced up to his responsibilities and realized he had to be home for the kids who were teens at the time. Now the youngest is off to college. Good kids. They've worked here on and off. Three girls. As for him, I don't trust him."
I muddled through what I'd just learned but still came up puzzled. The ding of the bell came from the kitchen. "Trixie, we've got an order up," the chef called from the back.
"Got to go. Junior is calling me," she said as she abruptly left the table.
I brushed off the weird vibe and looked around at their cat-ate-the-canary faces. "What did you guys find out?"
"Despite what we heard from Buddy, Trixie said that the twins came in talking about how they're glad Lori's gone," Dolly volunteered.
"Word around town is everyone is still betting on Gus, though. I guess they had a heated argument right before she died. To make matters worse, somebody overheard he was going to bring her to the play practice that night before she was killed—something about her car being on the fritz. And remember, she was in that fur coat that was part of the play and those moving boxes that were right at the community theater," Ramona added. "Trixie gave us a blow-by-blow of their argument. One of her customers told her the whole thing and said it sounded intense."
This was getting worse and worse for Gus, but I wasn't ready to give up on him. Sure, I was a crazy optimist and probably hated to be wrong, but dang, there had to be some kind of explanation for the finger getting pointed at him other than the obvious.
"I've watched enough Murder, She Wrote with you ladies, and it's never the obvious person who's the guilty party." I had to stand up for my convictions, and if touting Jessica Fletcher's expertise won them over, so be it.
"I supposed we might have missed one or two episodes over the years where the obvious person is the real killer," Viola said.
"But Izzy's right. That never happens, and I know we've seen all of them," Alice added.
"But does that translate to real-life crimes?" Ramona asked.
I hated to admit it, but she had a point. More and more evidence pointed to Gus. "But he was such a nice man. We had a chat, and he was kind and supportive when I was losing it. He seemed worried about being accused because he'd been in jail and everyone always prejudged him. Now that the worst has happened, I don't know what to think any more." I hung my head in my hands. "And now I'm violating my promise to Nate a million different ways, and Joseph is hanging out there somewhere because he's in the middle of something as well. Which I shouldn't really care about, but I do because"—I sucked in a deep breath—"he's a jerk, but at the same time, it seems kind of heartless to…" I was losing it and couldn't seem to drag myself back from the edge of crazy.