A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

  On the way back to the Alexandria Inn, Rip turned to me and asked, "Have you lost your ever-loving mind? You'll fit in working as a waitress in that restaurant like I'd fit in as a tap-dancing instructor. Not to mention we're due in Chicago by the 29th for the wedding."

  "Don't worry, sweetheart. I don't plan to work there for very long."

  Chapter 9

  Not much had transpired in our absence regarding Lexie's imprisonment or progress in the murder investigation by the local detectives. The district prosecuting attorney had refused to allow any charges to be filed against Lexie until the investigators could bring him more corroborating evidence to consider. So far, he'd stated, all they were able to come up with was circumstantial evidence, nothing incriminating enough to warrant charging Lexie with homicide.

  Stone was able to visit with his wife for a short spell in the evening. Rip and I stayed at the inn to lend our friends a hand with their bed and breakfast establishment. We worked together getting two adjoining rooms freshened up, which consisted of some last-minute dusting and tidying up, fresh linens, and placing a straw cornucopia-styled "horn-of-plenty" container, ready to be filled with fresh fruit, on the small antique table in each room. It was most certainly an all-inclusive lodging facility I'd come to learn.

  I began preparing a simple supper for our two newly arriving guests; pot roast with potatoes and carrots, a Caesar salad, and freshly baked dinner rolls. I was liberally topping some bread pudding with rum sauce that I'd planned to serve for dessert while Rip handled the "checking-in" procedure for the two twenty-something-year-old sisters who were in town to attend a party celebrating their parent's silver wedding anniversary. The Spitz sisters were cheerful and bubbly, almost giddy, which made me feel like a cranky old curmudgeon in comparison.

  Forty-nine-and-a-half years into my marriage to Rip, it often felt as if our wedding was just yesterday. However, on that particular evening, it seemed like lifetimes ago. I glanced in the mirror before I climbed into bed later that night and my normally clear eyes, the color of stonewashed Levi's, now appeared to be bloodshot and puffy. If I didn't know better, I'd think the reflection looking back at me was that of a recovering alcoholic who'd fallen off the wagon and been on a three-day bender. I was so tired and weary by bedtime that I slept like the proverbial log all night long.

  After a nightmare-free night, I woke up refreshed and recharged. The whites of my eyes were no longer red and the puffiness beneath them had abated. I felt as if I were ready to conquer the world, beginning with a short stint as a waitress at a restaurant that served food more fit for rabbits than humans.

  * * *

  "You're asking me how the kelp and wakame omelet is here? Really?" I asked the young couple staring up at me as if I were actually in the habit of eating things that had no business being shoved into an omelet. "I really don't know, sweetheart. Personally, I wouldn't let any kind of seaweed pass through my lips if you paid me. I've made it to sixty-eight without giving up real food and I ain't gonna start eating this foo-foo stuff any time soon."

  The young lady exchanged a look with her eating partner and said, "Sorry, ma'am, but we are very health-conscious and we're adamantly against the brutal slaughter of animals just to provide us with meat that's detrimental to our bodies anyway. We think it's very important to eat food with colors: green vegetables like broccoli and kale for the indoles and isothiocyanates that help prevent cancer, purple fruits and vegetables like plums and eggplant for the anthocyanins and proanthocyanins to keep your heart healthy and your brain functioning at optimal—"

  I don't know who had pulled her chain, but I didn't have time to listen to a litany of fun food facts, so I cut her off. "Listen, sweetheart. I'd just as soon eat the geraniums in the planter by my kitchen window. They've got lots of colors; green foliage, red and orange blossoms, and even a few dark yellow leaves I ain't got around to picking off yet. Now I need to skedaddle and get your order turned in. Frankly, I don't know why anyone would want to ruin a perfectly good omelet by putting things like weeds out of the sea into it. Weeds that I think should stay in the sea where they belong. But, oh well, whatever floats your boat, I guess."

  It was seven-thirty on a crisp Tuesday morning and I was already sick of waiting on people. Even the customers sounded like they were speaking in a foreign language. There wasn't a lot of coffee being served either, but I got a lot of requests for the drink of the day, a healthy alternative to coffee listed in the menu as "Slow-Steeped Diet Caffeine-free Herbal Pomegranate and Ginseng Green Tea with Honey and Stevia Leaf." What the hell kind of drink is that? I asked myself. Any kind of beverage that takes sixteen words to list on a menu is way too tooty-fruity for my taste.

  Alice Runcan hadn't arrived yet, so I was pretty much obliged to wait on tables even though I didn't have a clue what the customers were ordering. The stuff on the plates I was delivering to tables reminded me of what my momma used to throw in the hog trough or the compost bin.

  It was closing in on ten o'clock when I recognized the woman strolling into the diner wearing shorts that barely covered the cheeks of her behind and a tank top that her bouncing breasts were threatening to slip out of. Her skanky outfit left little to the imagination. Wendy had talked about Alice's devotion to her religion. I wondered if Ms. Runcan attended church bazaars in outfits similar to this one. I also wondered if she'd ever been tested for schizophrenia.

  She marched right up to me and asked, "Are you the new hire?"

  Duh... I thought, as I responded affirmatively.

  "Well, then, welcome to Zen's Diner," Alice said. She looked me up and down before adding, "You're a little older than I expected, but I guess you'll have to do. I want to lay out the ground rules before you get too comfortable working here. For starters, if you are persistently late or snippy with customers you won't be around long enough to draw your first paycheck."

  Jeez, what a bundle of fun she'd be to work for. Little did she know I wouldn't be around long enough to deliver a bowl of Quinoa steel-cut oatmeal to the scraggly-bearded dude in the corner booth, much less to draw my first paycheck.

  I stood silently as Alice began to recite her list of rules. Before I was told I had to bow down and kiss her butt every time she walked into the diner, I said, "You sure look awfully familiar. Say, didn't I see you at Wendy Starr's birthday party the other night?"

  "Well, yes, I su-su-su-pose you could have. I did attend the party. Tragic about what hap-hap-hap-happened that night, huh? So sad. I'm sorry I don't re-mem-re-memb... uh, recall seeing you there," she stuttered, suddenly appearing terribly nervous and on edge.

  Of course she didn't. I'd had my back to her when she spoke to Mattie just after her arrival. Later, she was too focused on trying to "hook up," as they call it these days, with the handsome detective to take note of some ol' gal in the room that could be her grandmother.

  "Did you know that poor feller, Mr. Hayes?" I asked innocently. "He certainly was a good looking thing, wasn't he?"

  "Uh-huh. I've known Trotter for years, but who at the pa-pa-rty hadn't?"

  "Well, me, for one. I heard he was quite the player. Just out of curiosity, did you ever go out with him?"

  "Uh, yeah, for awhile I did. But he was supposed to be my date at Homecoming my senior year and the jerk-off backed out at the last minute, too late for me to find a replacement. As the homecoming queen that year, it was extremely embarrassing to show up at the dance without a date. He was a self-centered, overbearing blowhard if there ever was one."

  Alice's whole demeanor had changed drastically. She morphed from a stern, unemotional taskmaster into a red-hot ball of fire with venom in her voice and hostility in her eyes. If she could spit out her vivid opinion of him without stumbling over it, her speech impediment was no longer an issue either.

  "Oh, my," I said. I spoke dramatically just for effect. "Man, that'd make me furious! In fact, it'd make me want to get a little revenge. Knock that scuzzball down a notch or two. After all, you were no dou
bt the center of attention that night. I'd be humiliated to the bone to be stood up that way."

  "Oh, but it gets even better."

  "Do tell!"

  "About halfway through the dance, Trotter strolled into the auditorium with one of my closest friends, Rayleen Waters, on his arm. He'd told her that he and I had split up even though he'd never told me that."

  "Oh, my," I repeated. "In that case, I'd definitely want to open up a big ol' can of whoop-ass on that creep if I were you. And maybe an even larger can of it on your so-called friend, Rayleen Waters."

  "Rayleen and I shrugged it off eventually and put it behind us. We blamed Trotter for lying to both of us and causing the rift between us to begin with. Joy White was a great friend of ours too. Joy was my very best friend, in fact. Rayleen, Joy, and I were called the Three Musketeers until we went our separate ways to attend different colleges, just a few months after that homecoming dance. I hadn't seen Joy in years, so I was naturally shocked to see her at the party with Trotter."

  "Bad taste, huh?" I asked.

  "No lie! She should have known better than to mess with him. Joy and I drifted apart after a while too, and hadn't seen each other in several years. But naturally she'd known all about the homecoming fiasco and also about Trotter's bad boy reputation. Then to top it off, Rayleen had attended the party with Falcon Jons. Another example of bad taste. I still can't believe she showed up with him of all people."

  A bell went off in my head when I heard that unusual name. I recalled that he was the dude who was sucking on some girl's vocal cords, all the while staring at Trotter's date, Joy White. I now knew his date was a girl named Rayleen Waters, one of the "Three Musketeers" along with Joy and Alice. I had to tread slowly so as not to make Alice Runcan think I was anything but a nosy, gossip-craving senior citizen. "Oh, my goodness! So what's the deal with this Falcon Jons guy that came as Rayleen's date?"

  "Let's just say he's got a screw loose. His elevator not only doesn't go to the top floor, it doesn't budge off the bottom one. Anyway, after what Trotter Hayes did to me on homecoming, I haven't given him the time of day. He was an inconsiderate, self-absorbed, narcissistic jackass if you ask me."

  "Gosh, he sure sounds like one," I replied. "I'm guessing you're not too unhappy about his death then."

  "Well, um, I can't hon-hon-estly say I was devasta-deva-um, you know, terribly upset about it, but that doesn't mean I'd want to see him da-da-dead or pers-personally ever consider mur-mur-mur-mur-mur −"

  "Murdering him?" I finished her sentence for her because my patience was wearing thin. Her speech impediment had made a comeback. I was considering the fact her stuttering might be triggered by the telling of great big hairy lies.

  "Yes."

  "I see."

  "Let's get to my list of ground rules again, Ms. Ripple," Alice said. "We need to get you back to work. We don't want to keep our customers waiting, now do we?"

  In the blink of an eye, her personality returned to the one she was exhibiting when she first approached me. It was evident our discussion about the murder was over and I wasn't apt to get anything further out of this woman, whom I now considered a possible but unlikely suspect. She'd have to be insane to commit murder over such an insignificant event that happened over a decade ago.

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Runcan, but I think I'm going to have to reconsider working as a server here. The arthritis in my spine is beginning to rear its ugly head, and the gout in my big toe seems to be flaring up all of a sudden as well. I'm afraid I'll need to look for employment in a position that requires less time on my feet. But I do appreciate the opportunity to find out if I could handle such a challenging occupation at this stage in my life."

  I didn't even wait around long enough to hear her response. I threw the silly-looking apron I'd been given to wear down on the counter and walked out the front door. I felt as if I'd gained a lot of insight into what I considered a trifling motive to kill Trotter Hayes. But I had to admit it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for someone as emotional unstable as Alice Runcan appeared to be.

  * * *

  I got in the truck, glad my tedious morning as a waitress was over. I quickly realized I had no clue how to get back to the inn. Once again, out of stupid pride, I had foolishly declined Rip's offer to show me how to program the return address into the GPS device. At the time he offered, I'd thought I'd be able to retrace my steps easily enough. Unfortunately, I discovered I'd overestimated my memory capacity by a great deal.

  Sometimes I even worried I might be in the early stages of Alzheimer's Disease and there was no medical affliction I feared more. When you get to be my age, just forgetting where you left your glasses is cause for concern. More so when it happens six times a day and at least one of those times you find them propped up on the top of your head.

  So I did what Rip had always done with electronic devices he didn't understand. I started randomly pushing buttons. I was about to give up on the GPS when the address of the Alexandria Inn popped up on the screen. I then pushed an option called "select as destination" and was delighted when the female voice told me to drive east for a mile and turn left on Weeping Willow Drive, which I remembered driving down earlier that morning.

  I was following the directions being voiced by the GPS device on the way home when I decided to name the gadget Ms. Ratchet. Every time I made one small misstep, the bossy voice said, "recalculating," in what I considered to be a very snotty tone. She even forced me to make a U-turn in downtown Rockdale that I feared might get me thrown in the can alongside Lexie.

  Back at the inn, I found the place eerily silent. The sisters were probably visiting their parents and a note written by Rip, lying on the kitchen table, read, "Stone and I are following a lead. Be back soon."

  The note was encouraging. It made me hopeful they were on the right path to nailing the real perpetrator. I was anxious to find out what, if any, discoveries they'd made. I had a little insight of my own to relate but was convinced it was of little or no significance.

  In the meantime, I wanted to sit a spell with my feet up and a drink in my hand. It'd been a long morning, and I'd been missing my afternoon cocktail. There was no tequila in the house so I grabbed a Miller Lite out of the fridge instead. I retreated to the screened-in back porch and stretched out on a chaise lounge. Dolly followed me outside and let out a series of pitiful squawks as soon as I'd gotten comfortable.

  By the way she was flopping over like a fainting goat, I knew the chubby cat was trying to entice me into serving her two o'clock feeding an hour-and-a-half early. Now, I know what you're thinking. And I'll admit it's Rip's and my fault the cat is overweight. But you've never had to look into the adorable kitty's pleading eyes and deny the poor hungry thing some sustenance. It's damned near impossible to do. So, after I fetched Dolly a scoop of Science Diet Light, I stretched out on the chaise lounge again.

  While I sipped on my beer and relaxed, I was going back over my discussion with Alice Runcan in my mind. I wished I'd thought to ask her why the three close friends had not kept in touch with each other in the years following high school. I still talked on the phone with my best school chum at least once a month. I could go back to Zen's Diner for breakfast the following day, but that might really raise a red flag with the restaurant owner. She might even get the impression I was stalking her. But, if nothing else, maybe I could find out where Joy lived or worked from Wendy and figure out some way to get into a conversation with her.

  I needed to try to think the way Lexie would if our roles were reversed. It sounded to me as if she had always been able to find clever, if occasionally risky, ways to get the information she wanted out of suspects. I went over the list of possible suspects in my mind as my eyes got more and more difficult to keep open. A short time later her majesty's rhythmic purring next to me lulled me to sleep.

  Before I nodded off, I'd considered some of the ramifications of the story Lexie had told us when we'd visited her the previous afternoon. The fact that Tro
tter's drink was spiked with cyanide made it clear that whoever killed him had planned the crime in advance. At the very least, whoever killed him had attended the party prepared to kill him if an opportunity to do so without being caught presented itself. And to their delight, no doubt, the opportunity had.

  The killer could be any number of people. A guy like Trotter Hayes probably had a whole lot of enemies. The perpetrator might not have even been invited to the party, I realized. If they had knowledge of Trotter's plans to attend the event, they could have sneaked in the rear door, hidden in the pantry, spiked his drink, and left without ever being seen by anyone. But if that were the case, how could the killer know in advance Trotter would request a drink and Lexie would leave the drink unattended in the kitchen long enough for them to slip cyanide into his Crown and Coke? And, more importantly, who then slashed his throat? After more consideration, it seemed certain to me the killer had to have been at the party, instead of an intruder who slipped in, killed his victim, and slipped out, undetected by anyone else.

  A coincidence of those proportions just didn't seem like a viable possibility to me. I decided we needed to concentrate on party guests who had previous issues with the victim. And it was beginning to seem like it could be a lengthy list. Unless something else popped up to indicate otherwise, looking into whatever motives the various guests might have had to kill Trotter Hayes is what appeared to me to be the best way to spend our time. The only way to discover motives a guest might have had was to talk to them, which might also result in finding out any possible motives other guests might have had. It was human nature for people to postulate and point fingers at others.

  The next thing I knew I was being awakened by a tender kiss on my forehead. Startled, I pulled back abruptly and knocked my half-empty beer can off the wrought-iron table. Startled by the sudden noise, Dolly practically jumped out of her skin on the other side of me. She was trying to get traction to flee before she even hit the ground.