A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "Did Wendy tell Andy about the assault?" I wanted to know. I was thinking the party could turn out to be more memorable than we'd anticipated if she had shared the news with her protective boyfriend. If he were anything like my husband, he'd have a word of two to say to the rat, along with a promise to have his face rearranged if he ever touched his girlfriend again.

  "I doubt she told Andy," Lexie said. "She felt humiliated and embarrassed about the whole thing and just wanted to put it behind her. But it might not stay behind her when she sees Trotter here tonight, I'm afraid. I can't promise I wouldn't do something totally horrid to Trotter myself, given half the chance."

  As Lexie had been speaking, a young couple had walked up behind us. I was still staring at the man across the room, leaning on the piano as if he owned the place. I didn't even bother to turn around as the woman behind me spoke to Mattie.

  "Hey, girl! Long time, no see. It's good to see you," the female said in greeting to her friend. She spoke with very little emotion, but politely.

  "Hi, Alice. Glad you were able to make it after all," Mattie said in return. After the brief exchange, Alice turned to walk away, followed closely by her clearly annoyed partner. I turned to look at them as they strode toward a group of guests in the corner of the room and noticed that right behind them was another young couple, holding hands, and obviously smitten with each other.

  "Oh, swell," Mattie said. Before either Lexie or I could ask her what she was referring to, Mattie nodded in the direction of the second couple who were now standing in the corner with the rest of the group. "As they say, the plot thickens. That's Falcon Jons, who I'd heard was Joy's ex-boyfriend. She must have broken up with him to date Trotter. I wouldn't want anything to do with Falcon, but he's a darned sight better choice than Trotter Hayes."

  Lexie just shook her head. I could tell she was already regretting having planned this surprise party for her daughter. We both looked toward the corner of the room, beyond a large parquet floor that Lexie had told me was occasionally used as a dance floor. Falcon Jons was trying to find something in the back of his date's throat with his tongue. I wanted to tell them to get a room, even though all the suites in the inn were currently occupied.

  "With the PDAs they're engaging in, I'd guess Falcon's trying to make Joy jealous. While he's kissing his date, he's watching his old girlfriend instead, apparently to see if Joy's witnessing him making out with a new girl, who incidentally used to be Joy's best friend. Jeez, you'd think they were high schoolers," Mattie remarked.

  I had no idea what a PDA was but I assumed it had something to do with inappropriately making out in public. And I had to agree it appeared as if he was more interested in his old girlfriend than he was in his new one. He hadn't taken his eyes off his former flame, who to his obvious distress had yet to notice he was even in the same time zone as she was.

  Lexie returned to the subject we'd been discussing before this Alice girl had interrupted us. "I don't want either of you to think poorly of me. I want to make it clear that I have forgiven Trotter Hayes because I feel it's the Christian thing to do. Nor do I want to go through life harboring hatred in my heart. But I'll never forget what he did to my daughter. When something or someone hurts my daughter, I hurt twice as badly."

  "Hear, hear!" I said, lifting my water bottle in a mock toast.

  "Same here," Mattie agreed as her wine glass tapped against my water bottle. "Wendy's like my other half, and when she's hurt I feel it just as deeply as she does." There was true sincerity in her remark. I knew it wasn't just rhetoric. I was happy when Mattie's mood lightened up drastically as she continued. "Well, I'm not being a very good hostess. I had better go greet the guests as they arrive."

  Lexie replied with a nod, "Yes, we want them to feel welcome. And I better go in the kitchen and see if Georgia needs any help. She said her daughter, Lori, is bringing over a few loaves of fresh-out-of-the-oven sourdough bread for additional sandwiches, if needed. She went to school with Wendy and Mattie, but was four or five grades behind them. I've only met her twice before, and although she's rather somber, the young lady's as sweet as her mother."

  "I'm looking forward to meeting her," I said sincerely.

  "There's Lori now." Lexie nodded her head toward the buffet table where a pretty young lady was pouring juice into a large punch bowl. "Andy told me to look for he and Wendy to get here at about eight-thirty, since he'd made their dinner reservations for nine. We'll start the buffet line soon after they arrive and everyone's had a chance to wish my daughter a happy birthday."

  "Sounds good. I love sourdough bread," I replied. I was starving and could hear my stomach growling, even over the clamor of the folks in the parlor. At that point I'd have welcomed a piece of moldy bread. A little scraping here and there and it'd be as good as new.

  Eating supper at eight-thirty was unbelievable to me. Our supper was on the table at five o'clock, come hell or high water. If we went out for supper, we usually arrived at the restaurant by four-thirty to avoid the early crowd and the ill effects of going to bed with a full stomach.

  We rarely ever ate anything after six in the evening in order to avoid the agony of a discontented esophagus as we tried to sleep. Acid reflux, like the thinning skin, arthritis, hardening of the arteries, hair and hearing loss, and many other equally enjoyable things, came as consolation prizes for getting older.

  Heartburn later that evening was almost guaranteed for Rip and me. But I simply said, "Smells delicious. I'm looking forward to dinner. Why don't you let me check in on Georgia instead and see if she needs my help setting up the buffet table?"

  "I'd rather you keep an eye out for Wendy and Andy's arrival while I assist Georgia. I'm concerned about her carrying those heavy containers of food by herself, and I need to cut the sheet cake. Georgia's a little wisp of a thing and I worry about her carrying such heavy loads."

  "Get to it then, girl! You don't want her to get hurt and be unable to cater your next event," I said with a wink. "I'll watch out for the kids."

  Lexie flashed me a sly smile. She realized then that her reason for hiring Georgia Piney was not lost on me. She thanked me and we split ways.

  As I walked toward the window, I was thinking about what I'd like to say and do to Trotter Hayes for treating my girl, Wendy, the way he had. I figured it was probably best for everyone concerned if I avoided him. After a few tequila sunrises, I couldn't be trusted not to thump him on the head with Rip's cane if he got within ten feet of me.

  Chapter 5

  "Surprise!" A chorus of voices rang out seconds after the lights came back on. The flash of a few cameras filled the room, and nearly everyone else had their phone out in front of them, presumably to catch the look of astonishment on the guest of honor's face. But they'd have to have had a very fast shutter on their cameras, because that look of astonishment turned into one of complete shock in a split second. It was as if Wendy had seen the ghost of her late grandmother playing the piano across the room.

  I have never before heard the word "surprise" go from one of jubilation to one of bone-chilling terror—all in two syllables. I saw everyone following Wendy's gaze toward that piano and I turned to glance that way also. I had to see what had caught everyone's attention.

  I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was the body of Trotter Hayes, flat on the floor in a pool of blood. He was laid out right in front of the baby grand, with Lexie standing over him with a long serrated knife in her right hand. Next to the man's body was a broken goblet, one of the ones we'd put out next to Sheila Davidson's "Citrus Surprise" punch. Lexie had said her best friend's concoction packed a punch you wouldn't see coming, and I was thinking that the dead feller hadn't seen what hit him either.

  As the entire crowd silently stared at the corpse with their mouths agape, Lexie's arms fell to her sides. Her face instantly drained of color and her hands relaxed. The knife she'd been holding clattered to the floor, making an eerie clinking sound as it broke the silence of the room. As everyo
ne stood motionless, the tray Lexie had been carrying in her left hand fell to the floor beside the knife. It landed with a single thud. Suddenly Lexie's knees buckled and she fell to the floor like a house of cards collapsing.

  As much as I hate to admit it, my first thought was "Hot Diggety Dog! Lexie did it!" Maybe she wasn't kidding when she said she'd be apt to do something completely horrid to her daughter's attacker if given half a chance. But I already knew Lexie Starr well enough to know that, although she might wish the guy great harm, she'd never resort to violence to carry out her desire. She'd slash her own wrists before she'd perpetrate such a vicious act against anyone, even that creep Trotter Hayes.

  After several long moments of silence, the din in the room rose to a deafening level all at once. Lexie's husband, Stone Van Patten, and Detective Johnston, who had been standing side-by-side about ten feet behind and fifteen feet to the right of Lexie and the victim, rushed to Lexie's side. As Stone assisted his wife, the detective removed his revolver from its holster. As he spoke into a hand-held radio he'd had clipped to his belt he briskly scanned the room for a hidden threat.

  "Code Twenty. Repeat, Code Twenty. Ten-ninety-nine at the Alexandria Inn," I heard the detective say. I knew from being married to a career law enforcement officer that Wyatt was reporting a "Homicide" and an "Officer Needs Help" request to the dispatcher. He was also arming himself in case a psychotic mass murderer was on a killing spree in the Alexandria Inn. I couldn't say I blamed him.

  Before the noise level could even drop a few decibels below that of a passing locomotive, a slew of first-responders swarmed into the room, asking everyone in the room to please calm down and refrain from disturbing anything even remotely associated with the victim. The party had come to an abrupt end. Alexandria Inn had just been upgraded from a party scene to a crime scene.

  After Nate, the county coroner who was attending the party, ascertained the victim was truly deceased, the first order of business was to assess Joy White's condition, who had attended the party as the victim's date. She was sobbing and nearly hysterical when the EMTs responded to the scene only seconds behind three additional police officers.

  The medics had her sit in a chair while one administered a shot, presumably a sedative to calm her down. It didn't appear to help one iota. The other EMT monitored Joy's vital signs. Five minutes later, Joy White was taken to a waiting ambulance on a stretcher, distraught and inconsolable. I'd later learn that the medics had feared her blood pressure was approaching a dangerous level. But by the time the ambulance arrived at Wheatland Memorial Hospital, Joy was calm and collected, and her blood pressure had returned to normal. She had been quickly treated and released.

  To curtail nightmares as much as possible, two detectives curtained off the area around the body using two chairs and a tablecloth that Lexie had utilized to cover a small metal table. In doing so, they partially blocked the ghastly sight from the party guests. Trotter's face and bloody torso was no longer within our view, but his lower legs and bent left arm remained visible. That alone was enough to make the hairs on my arm stand straight up.

  At that point, everyone in the inn was a potential suspect. Detective Johnston's investigative training took over as he directed the crowd to sit quietly on the floor and explained that we weren't allowed to leave the premises until told we could do so. He asked for silence and advised the partygoers to not discuss the tragic scene with anyone else in the room until after they'd been questioned and given a statement of what, if anything, they personally had witnessed.

  We were asked to go over the tragic event in our minds and try to remember any sights, sounds, smells, or other sensations we'd experienced before, during, and after the fatal event. The detectives would ask us to relate those observations to them as we were called up one by one, out of earshot of the rest of the guests—standard protocol at a homicide scene, Wyatt assured everyone. The interviewing procedure would begin as soon as the scene was processed and the body was removed, he announced. When Detective Johnston finished speaking, the room began to buzz with the droning of numerous conversations erupting, from both the party guests and the investigating team. Wyatt blew his police whistle to quiet the crowd. The party was over before it had even had a chance to begin, but the Alexandria Inn was still a beehive of activity.

  I doubt anyone saw much to report as the room had been quite dark when the murder was committed. Dusk was already turning into night and the only entrance into the parlor was through the dining room, where the lights had been turned off before the guests had even begun to arrive. Stone had hung blankets over the only two outside windows in the room to block out the light to guarantee total darkness when Wendy and Andy entered the parlor.

  The lights in the parlor had been switched off about fifteen minutes before the arrival of the guest of honor. Wyatt now requested that all of the lights be turned back on and the blankets removed from the windows to allow the crime scene investigators to better process the scene.

  In my entire lifetime, I'd only personally witnessed detectives working one homicide case. That crime scene had involved the death of the self-absorbed author in Cheyenne, Wyoming, just three short weeks prior. I got the distinct impression that most of the detectives at this current crime scene had put Lexie at the top of their suspects list.

  Rather than stand there like I was super-glued to the floor, I decided to join Georgia at the buffet table to help her clear off the food and serving paraphernalia. She was standing behind the table, appearing as dazed and confused as everyone else in the room. I watched Stone walk over to her woodenly. He handed her a check, which she reluctantly took. She glanced at the check and attempted to hand it back to him. Stone backed away, shaking his head fervently. Georgia eventually gave in, nodded her thanks, folded the check in half and stuffed it in her back pocket, then began putting the aluminum lids back on the serving containers.

  When I approached her and asked if I could assist, she looked pale and unsteady. I pulled a chair up behind her and had her sit down until she regained her composure. She thanked me and mumbled that it didn't seem right to accept payment for a meal that was never going to be served. And now she had to decide what to do with all the food she'd brought.

  Lexie was still in a state of shock, as was evident by the "deer in the headlights" expression on her face. At that point, she was in no condition to make any kind of decision regarding the food, and I didn't feel it was mine to make. I told Georgia to speak to Stone again about the issue when she got the opportunity, but in the meantime we might as well pack it all back up so it wouldn't go completely to waste. If it had been up to me, I'd have donated the food to the local mission that served meals to the homeless and underprivileged where it'd be very appreciated.

  I helped Georgia load the trays of food into the rear of her van. She told me that Lori had forgotten the sourdough bread and had left to retrieve it just a minute or two after Wendy and Andy's arrival. For what purpose would the sourdough bread be needed at this point? I was wondering. Did Lori truly believe the party would go on as planned despite the bloody corpse on the dance floor?

  When I re-entered the parlor from the kitchen, I came up behind the makeshift curtain blocking the guests' view of the body. I couldn't help but look at Trotter Hayes. His face was waxy-looking, almost translucent. He looked like a mannequin that had been knocked over at Macy's. When I saw the coroner nonchalantly stab a thermometer into the boy's abdomen, presumably his liver, I was glad I hadn't already eaten supper. I quickly retreated to a far corner of the room.

  From there I watched Alice Runcan, the young lady who had spoken briefly to Mattie earlier, stand up and approach a tall, blond-haired detective. The officer appeared to be in charge of the investigating team as they carefully surveyed the scene and gathered evidence. The entire team wore latex gloves as they placed the items into clear plastic bags. Alice smiled in a very flirtatious manner as she showed the handsome detective something on the front of her cell phone. I don't know
if it was her phone number, a photo of her flashing her breasts, or what. But judging by the provocative manner in which Alice was licking her lips and tossing her hair over her shoulder, not to mention the way the detective was practically drooling on her phone, I was guessing it was, at the very least, a photo of her winning a wet t-shirt contest.

  The detective looked at the photo and began licking his lips as well. He took the phone out of the gal's hand to study it intently, smiling all the while. Yep! Definitely a booby shot of some type. If my instincts were correct, it was very inappropriate for the situation.

  Then I looked across the room at the young man who had accompanied Alice Runcan to the party. I observed the stormy glare he was projecting across the room toward his date. Could the entire seductive scene have been played out by Alice to make her date jealous or to get under his skin for some reason? If so, her ploy was definitely working because her date looked absolutely livid.

  To the man's chagrin, the detective appeared to be very captivated with Alice, and he spoke with her for a long time. As Alice spoke, he was writing occasional notes, or possibly just jotting down information on how to contact her later.

  The remaining detectives began interviewing guests one-by-one, allowing them to leave the premises after they'd given a statement. As was the case with nearly everyone who was questioned, Alice Runcan did a lot of pointing toward the kitchen and then to the vicinity of where what's-his-name had been slain.

  After being photographed from every perceivable angle, Trotter's worthless hide was carefully zipped into a body bag and carried out of the inn. The four burly men removed the body bag as if they were carrying easily disturbed and motion-sensitive explosive devices. I realized it was their way of showing respect for their boss's stepson. God help them if they were responsible for dropping the dude on his already brain-dead head. I'd have been more in favor of dragging his carcass across the floor like a bulky bag of potting soil, nudging it with my foot if it got hung up on the threshold of the front door. But then, I didn't have a job hanging in the balance like the detectives did.