A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

  Even though it seemed like a rather back-handed compliment, I beamed at my husband's words. I wasn't actually sure if I should be standing there with that stupid grin on my face, or walloping Rip on the head with my over-sized raggedy purse. The heavy thermos in my two-decade-old canvas bag would have definitely left a mark.

  I was so rattled, I was lucky to remember my own name at the time, so I'd completely forgotten I'd brought the small thermos of stout coffee to give Lexie until I'd considered beaning Rip with it. A caffeine boost was something I knew Lexie would welcome and that she'd appreciate the gesture. I was correct. You'd have thought she'd just matched all the numbers in a lottery drawing when I handed it to her.

  As Lexie sipped on the coffee, Stone and Rip asked her questions regarding what she could remember about the incident that had left the young, repugnant jerk dead on the parlor floor. I pulled out a small notebook, usually utilized for grocery and to-do lists, and wrote down a few important details as the rest of them discussed the crime. Ideas were forming in my mind as they conversed. A few of them even had merit.

  "I had taken the sheet cake out to set on the buffet table, intending to cut the cake so it'd be ready to serve after Wendy blew out the candles on the regular birthday cake that Georgia had baked and decorated. Wasn't that a beautiful cake she made for you, Wendy? I loved the purple icing and the—"

  "Don't lose focus, Mom. It was a terrific cake, but we need to get back to what you remember. Okay?" Wendy said. She was aware of how easily her mother could get distracted when she was nervous, I was sure, and didn't want her to take off on an unrelated tangent since our time with her was limited.

  "Oh, sorry. So anyway, I then decided to wait on cutting the cake until the lights were back on because I didn't want to mess it all up or risk getting cut by the knife again."

  "Again?" Rip asked. "What do you mean by 'again'?"

  "Well, it was dark at the time, and as I was feeling around for the knife I'd seen Lori set next to the cake earlier in the evening, I sliced the tip of my index finger. I assume that's how my blood got on the knife that was used to kill Trotter." With tears in her eyes, Lexie held up the bandaged finger as if she were offering proof of her story.

  "It's okay, honey," Stone said. "It wasn't your fault, and you had no way of knowing what was about to happen. You don't need to feel guilty about the young man's death. Go on with your story."

  "So I decided to return to the kitchen to help Georgia and Lori Piney get everything moved to the buffet table, which was a challenging task in the dark. They were going back and forth to their cars to haul in boxes and trays. Trotter, who was standing by himself at that point, stopped me on my way to the kitchen. He asked me if I'd please bring him a drink, preferably whiskey," Lexie explained.

  "And you told the scumbag you would?" I asked in a disgusted tone.

  "Yes, I did, Rapella," she replied with a sigh. "I guess it's the ingrained 'polite and accommodating hostess' trait in me. We own a lodging facility, you know. And being over-the-top accommodating is what keeps customers coming back and recommending our B&B to others. In fact, we often—"

  "Mom, please! Stick to the story about what happened," Wendy insisted. "We haven't got all afternoon to talk with you."

  "Oh, yeah. Sorry again! So, anyway, I continued on to the kitchen. Rip had brought me a bottle of Crown Royal earlier, and I opened it and made the drink for Trotter. I'll admit it actually flitted through my mind that if I'd had some kind of poison on hand at that moment, I'd have been tempted to add just a touch to his drink. You know, just enough to give him a severe enough bellyache he'd have to leave the premises before Wendy and Andy arrived. But, believe me, it was only fanciful thinking. I'd never actually do such an awful thing, even to a man like Trotter Hayes."

  "We know you wouldn't, honey. Continue on," Rip replied.

  "Okay. Just as I started to take the drink out to the parlor, Georgia walked in the back door with a large tray of pulled pork sandwiches. She asked me if I'd mind helping her carry in an even heavier tray of brisket. I told her I'd just made a drink for Trotter Hayes but I could spare a minute or two and would be more than happy to help. She flinched as if Trotter's name was familiar to her and that she wasn't a big fan of his either. It seemed clear that his reputation preceded him."

  "Oh, trust me, Mom. It definitely did," Wendy replied. "Go on. What happened next?"

  "After I went outside and assisted Georgia, we both returned to the kitchen. She exited the room to take some of the brisket sandwiches to the buffet table on a cobalt blue platter that reminded me of my antique bowl, an old family keepsake. Did you see that platter, Rapella? Remind me to show you the bowl I inherited from—"

  "Really? Come on, Mom," Wendy said. "Stick to the story!"

  "Did anything seem amiss when you came back in from outside with Georgia?" Rip asked Lexie as I continued to take notes.

  "No, not that I recall," Lexie responded. "Although the spoon I'd stirred Trotter's drink with was lying directly on the counter instead of in the spoon rest where I'd left it. I only noticed it because it's kind of a pet peeve with me. It may sound trivial, but I don't like to have to continually wipe off the counters with disinfectant."

  Then she shook her finger at my husband as if something had just occurred to her while she was reflecting back. "Wait a minute, Rip. I remember now that the pantry door was closed when we walked back inside with the tray of sandwiches. I'm almost positive it had been wide open with the motion sensor light on when I left the kitchen to help Georgia. So now that I think about it, it would only be illuminated if someone were moving around in there while I was preparing Trotter's drink."

  "So, it's quite possible someone was in the pantry and heard you tell the caterer you'd just made a drink for Trotter and were heading outdoors for a short spell to help her carry in a tray of meat," Rip mused out loud. "That would have been the perfect opportunity for the drink to be spiked if the assailant was in the pantry when you made that statement. Where was Georgia's daughter at the time?"

  "I had just seen Lori placing a stack of paper plates on the buffet table. She was arranging the plastic silverware, as well as the red Solo cups for the pop and beer. Stone and I always refer to those as Judge Ito cups because he always had one on the bench during the O.J. Simpson trial and ─"

  "Mom, please─"

  "So, anyway, I assumed Lori was still putting things in order on the table in the parlor, such as the condiments, a few side dishes, and the glass goblets I'd purchased for Sheila's punch and the mixed drinks I'd expected to be serving. Georgia had provided deviled eggs, cole─"

  "Had anyone else entered the kitchen earlier while you were mixing Trotter's drink?" Rip asked Lexie before Wendy could chastise her mother once again for getting sidetracked. The rest of us had been quietly taking in their Q and A exchange.

  "I can't remember exactly, because I was running around like a greyhound on speed, but I do think a few of the party guests had wandered in and left shortly afterward. I was too busy to even turn around to acknowledge them, so I have no idea who they were. But I did at one point hear at least two females laughing at something they'd just been discussing."

  "Did you recognize any of their voices?" Rip asked.

  I could sense the thoughts racing through Lexie's mind as she tried to place their voices but couldn't. I don't think she'd ever met a lot of the guests so it stood to reason she wouldn't recognize many of their voices. Finally, she shook her head and said, "I did recognize one of the voices, but I can't recall now whose voice it was, not knowing at the time it could end up potentially being an important factor in a murder investigation."

  "Of course, that's only natural," Rip added before motioning for her to keep reciting her story.

  "Okay, so I took the drink out to the parlor and had to feel my way around to find Trotter in the near total darkness of the room. It was the sound of his obnoxious laughing that led me to him. After I handed him the drink, he thanked me."
>
  "I'd think so," I interjected. "He should have been thanking you for not sending his sorry butt packing the minute he stepped on your property."

  "Hush, Rapella! Go on with your story, Lexie," Rip remarked. The look he shot me spoke volumes. I knew the clock was ticking so I vowed I wouldn't interrupt with any more of my personal opinions, even though it'd be difficult to keep them to myself. I did, however, regret not whacking Rip on the head earlier when the thermos was still in my bag.

  "After he thanked me, I basically just mumbled incoherently and returned to the kitchen for a short spell. I picked up a tray of small bowls containing pickles, olives, and butter mints. No, wait! I think it was a bowl of cashews, not olives. No, not cashews, it was roasted almonds, or maybe pistachios—"

  "Oh, good God!" Wendy exclaimed in exasperation. "It doesn't matter if you brought out a bowl of cocoa puffs or crack pipes! Quit getting bogged down in insignificant details. Wyatt's going to run us out of here in less than fifteen minutes."

  "Oh, okay. I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was on the clock. So I then went back out to the parlor and made my way over to the buffet table to set the bowls down. Afterward, I felt around in the dark until I located the knife lying next to the cake. I was going to take the knife into the kitchen to wash it off, realizing I may have left blood on its handle when I'd sliced my finger earlier."

  We were all listening intently to her reciting the events that led up to the moment Trotter's dead body became the center of attention, leaving Lexie in a compromising position at the time the lights came back on in the parlor.

  Lexie went on to describe those next few moments. "With the empty tray in one hand and the cake knife in the other, I was in the process of returning to the kitchen yet again. On the way, I nearly tripped over a large object on the floor which turned out to be Trotter's body. Just as I straightened up next to him, the lights came on unexpectedly and everyone shouted out to surprise Wendy. Then I remember seeing a number of flashes from cameras, including the one that captured me appearing to have just killed Trotter Hayes. If I had a 'joyful' expression on my face it was just because I was happy I hadn't done a face plant on the parlor floor when I stumbled over Trotter's body. And now I'm sitting in a jail cell trying to make sense of the entire sequence of events that led up to that moment."

  My vow to keep my opinions to myself lasted less than two minutes. "You know, Lexie, if you hadn't agreed to wait on that big turd like he was royalty in the first place, you wouldn't be in this predicament now."

  Lexie laughed and shook her head. "Oh, Rapella. Only you could come up with something like that! But thank you for making me laugh for the first time since before this whole crazy thing took place."

  I hadn't meant to make her laugh, but I was happy to see a genuine smile on her face nonetheless. Glancing at Rip, I noticed there was no sign of a smile on his face. "Sweetheart," he said patiently. "What part of 'Wyatt's going to run us out of here in less than fifteen minutes' didn't you understand?"

  "Hey, Lexie, honey," Stone spoke soothingly. "Wyatt told me it was a guest named Alice Runcan who showed Detective Russell a photo she'd taken on her cell phone. Do you know Alice by any chance?"

  I interrupted again, despite my husband's scowling expression. "I remember watching that floozy practically seducing the detective on the other side of the parlor right after the cops arrived. She was rubbing her ample boobs all over that detective to get his attention, and her efforts were clearly successful. He was literally licking his lips while she was doing so. I'd gotten the impression she'd only used the excuse of showing him a photo on her phone in order to flirt with him."

  Lexie nodded and asked, "But, instead, could she have been trying to frame me for a murder she'd committed? Maybe that's why she snapped the photo to begin with. She may have just seized that perfectly timed opportunity to point the finger in my direction, and away from her or anyone else in the crowd."

  "I guess it's possible," I consented. "But I still think she was just trying to get in his britches."

  "Lexie's point is something to consider," my husband said. He looked at me in disgust as he said to Lexie, "You never got the chance to answer Stone's question about whether or not you knew Alice Runcan before the party."

  "Well, of course I'd heard a lot about her in numerous conversations with Wendy and Mattie over the years but I'd never met her in person before."

  "She was a high-school classmate of ours," Wendy said. "Mattie and I buddied around with her on occasion but I never brought her home to introduce to Mom because we just weren't all that close."

  "Our allotted time with you is about up but we'll discuss it more tonight when the kids all come over for dinner," I said.

  "The kids are coming over for supper?" Lexie asked wistfully.

  I should have thought before making that comment. We'd decided to invite them over so we could further discuss the murder and find out any new developments from Detective Johnston. Along with Wendy and Andy, Wyatt and his girlfriend, Veronica, were also joining us for a meal of pizza, bread sticks, and red wine. On the way to the police station, we'd decided to save the pork chops I'd thawed out and order our dinner from a local pizzeria instead. There was no time to waste on cooking meals when we could have the food delivered instead.

  At the moment there were no guests at the inn. The two couples from out of town who'd been booked there for the night of the party had returned to their homes this morning, as had a few other guests who's stay over at the inn had only been coincidental. Before they departed, Lexie's best friend, Sheila Davidson, and her husband, Randy, had assured me they were just a phone call away if there was anything they could do to help out with the situation at hand. The Davidsons seemed like good people too.

  I instantly felt bad about bringing up our plans for the evening while Lexie was locked in a God-awful cage. I could tell from her expression that she was upset about missing out on what would no doubt be a pleasant and interesting evening with the two young couples, all of whom Lexie adored as if they were her own children.

  According to Lexie, Wyatt had been taking good care of her even though the chief had insisted that she receive no special privileges. That made me feel a little better about her current situation. She told us Wyatt had brought her coffee at every opportunity, and even sneaked in some fast food for her just before we arrived so she didn't have to eat the customary lunch fare for inmates of the local jail. The previous evening, at the risk of losing his position on the Rockdale police force, he had even secured a warm blanket for her and laid a foam pad on her cot so she'd be as comfortable as he could possibly make her.

  Thinking about Wyatt's kindness seemed to make him magically appear. He said, "Sorry folks! Gotta run you out of here before Travis and Russell report to work."As we proceeded to our vehicles in the parking lot, I thought about what had happened to throw the entire special event into such a chaotic conundrum.

  As it stood, Andy had not been able to propose to Wendy. Obviously, he didn't want to ask her to marry him while her mother was in jail for murder. The very thought that those two youngsters' engagement was being forced into limbo until the real killer was apprehended and charged with murder saddened me. But it also strengthened my resolve to track down the killer soon so Lexie could be released and the kids could get properly engaged. I hoped to still be here when their engagement became official. In the meantime, Rip and I needed to break down any obstacle that blocked our path in hunting down Trotter Hayes's killer and bringing him, or her, to justice.

  Chapter 8

  Sitting around the large dining room table, which could easily seat another half dozen people, we talked about the case while we chewed on bland, nearly tasteless, thin and crispy sausage and pepperoni pizzas. They even looked like they'd been run over three or four times by a dump truck and then left on the pavement to cook in the sun for a week. They would have made better Frisbees than pizzas, but it didn't really matter. I didn't have to prepare them, and that's all I c
ared about. We all consumed our food mindlessly anyway, while we concentrated on our lively conversation.

  Wyatt had no new information to pass on. He had a suspicion he was being intentionally kept in the dark about the case because of his relationship with Lexie and Stone. According to Lexie, the friendly detective stopped by the inn more mornings than not to drink two or three cups of coffee and eat as many pastries as she could come up with. She had told me he ate like a man who had just been rescued from a deserted island he'd been stranded on for weeks. Not just occasionally, but on a regular basis.

  If the man was taking in as many calories as Lexie had indicated, he must have the metabolism of a hummingbird, which ate over twice its weight in nectar every day. Even having been told about the detective's appetite, I was still astounded when I saw him reach for his eighth slice of pizza. Now I realized why Stone had asked me to order so much pizza. At the time, I was assuming we'd have enough left over to eat for lunch the following day. Stone had also asked me to order two dozen cinnamon sticks, of which Wyatt had devoured seven already.

  Wyatt was a big man, but seemed to be in incredibly good condition. He was tall, muscular, and very fit. The polar opposite of my husband, who was short, a tad doughy, and beginning to fall apart piece by piece, like a lot of folks our age tend to do. He wasn't terribly overweight, but his once firm muscles seemed to be atrophying from lack of use and leaning toward flabby now. Having to drag along a cane slowed him down, and the lack of exercise was starting to take a toll on Rip's waistline. I'd bought him three new leather belts in the last couple of years, one size bigger each time.

  I had always made an effort to keep in shape. I swam whenever possible and tried to walk several miles every day. So far, it was keeping me in as good a condition as one could expect. I was determined to stay on Rip's case until I could convince him to see an orthopedic surgeon about his hip. It'd be advantageous for both of us if he were able to walk with me.