Between a Book and a Hard Place

by Denise Swanson

  By the time I turned in to the club’s parking lot, the breeze had picked up, and the sign over the entrance moved back and forth on its chains, emitting a gentle squeak with each swing. Summer would be over in another week, but it was still pleasantly warm, and I enjoyed the soft night air.

  Anxious for that first taste of the intoxicating goodness of lime and tequila, I sprang out of the Z4 and ran up the side steps. Poppy was waiting for me at the delivery door and swung it open, relocking it as soon as I was inside. With her silvery blond ringlets, amethyst eyes, and slight build, a lot of guys made the mistake of believing she was an angel. However, they quickly discovered she was more likely to wear horns than a halo.

  “Boone’s already here. He’s saving the Stable for us,” Poppy informed me as she pushed me in front of her. “I’ll grab a pitcher of margaritas and meet you there.”

  Gossip Central had been a cattle barn before Poppy bought it and turned it into the hottest nightspot in the county. She’d kept the basic structure, and the center of the building contained the stage, dance floor, and bar, while the hayloft was now a space that could be rented for private parties. Instead of tearing down all the stalls, she’d converted them into out-of-the-way little spots with comfortable seating, themed decorations, and privacy.

  When I entered our favorite alcove, one of the few spots where Poppy didn’t have listening devices installed, Boone was seated on the brown leather love seat facing the doorway. His coppery face creased into a wide smile, and he leaped to his feet to hug me. Boone claimed that his skin was naturally bronzed, but both Poppy and I knew about the clandestine tanning bed in his back bedroom.

  Which, I suppose, was only fair, since he knew all our deep, dark secrets. My biggest one was a tiny shooting-star tattoo I had gotten during a college spring-break trip to Mexico. Poppy’s was how she had gotten the financing for the bar.

  After releasing me, Boone said, “Your stepfather’s murder is all anyone has been able to talk about, but no one seems to know any details. The police are being particularly closemouthed.”

  “I know.”

  Boone pulled me down on the sofa, and with an arm slung over my shoulders and an impatient look on his face, he said, “Spill.”

  Before I could start my story, Poppy strolled through the doorway. She placed a tray holding a pitcher and three glasses on the wood – and wrought-iron feed box that served as a coffee table, then dropped into one of the pair of saddle-stitched club chairs.

  She glared at Boone, evidently because he’d tried to get the scoop without her. Then, as she poured the margaritas, she jerked her chin at me and instructed, “Start from the beginning.”

  “It’s hard to know where that is.” I grabbed my glass and took a healthy gulp. As the potent liquid entered my system, I relaxed for the first time since I’d gotten my father’s call. “How much have you all heard?”

  “Jett Benedict was found dead in the library’s basement by his wife,” Boone recited, as if reading from a newspaper. “Because of the overwhelming police presence, foul play is suspected. Devereaux Sinclair and Yvette Benedict spent a considerable amount of time as guests of the Shadow Bend Police Department.”

  Boone had barely finished talking when Poppy snapped, “I bet my dad loved that.”

  “Obsessed much?” I teased. Poppy was convinced that Chief Kincaid’s every move as a cop was his way of getting back at her.

  “Yes, she is.” Boone’s hazel eyes crinkled, and he leaned forward and tapped her knee. “Honey, you’ve got to get over that.”

  “I am not obsessed. I’m justifiably suspicious,” Poppy protested. “Because I know what my father is capable of and you don’t.”

  “We would if you would tell us,” Boone retorted. “Which makes me wonder why you won’t. We tell each other everything else.”

  I rolled my eyes. Although it was true we did confide in one another, I had no doubt we each had some things we didn’t share. But I remained silent, because when Poppy and Boone started sniping at each other, it was hard to stop them. And tonight I didn’t have the energy to waste that kind of effort on something futile.

  “I’m not telling because you’ll take his side,” Poppy accused.

  “No, I won’t. I would never do that.” Boone looked hurt. “Name one time when I haven’t stood shoulder to shoulder with you and Dev.”

  When neither Poppy nor I could meet Boone’s challenge, she said, “Well, you set Dev up when her mother and stepfather came to town.”

  “That was different. I just wanted us to have a library again, and I figured there was no way she could avoid them in a place this small anyway.” Boone glanced at me. “You forgive me, right?”

  “I suppose I have to.” It was too hard being mad at one of my best friends. “But don’t ever keep something like that from me again.” I finished my first margarita and poured another. “If you’d have explained, I would have attended the meeting voluntarily.”

  I hoped I was telling Boone the truth, but I wasn’t sure. Would I have sacrificed myself for the town? Probably. Maybe. Possibly.

  “Speaking of the library, what happens now that Jett is dead?” Poppy asked.

  “Good question.” Boone straightened the sharp creases in his designer jeans. “I’ll have to see if the endowment was completely set up yet. There’ve been some hitches with the transfer of funds.”

  “That explains why the inside of the library is still filthy and looks as if it hasn’t been touched,” I murmured. Then his words sank in, and I asked, “What kind of snags are you talking about?”

  “Oh. Wrong account numbers. Waiting for the right moment to sell stocks. Lawyers on vacation.” Boone wrinkled his nose. “Stuff like that.”

  “In my former profession in the investment field, those types of issues would have thrown up a red flag.” I frowned, thinking about what that could mean. “Maybe that’s the motive for Jett’s murder. Maybe he had money troubles and someone found out.”

  “Which leads us back to what the eff happened,” Poppy huffed.

  “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself.” I sat back and made myself comfortable. “It all started this afternoon when my mother stopped by the dime store and asked me to have lunch with her and Jett.”

  Taking a deep breath, I told them everything, except that it was my father rather than me who had been with Yvette when she’d found her husband’s body. I had made Dad and Mom promise not to tell a living soul about his presence, and I wasn’t sure if I could do any less.

  “Do the cops have any idea who might have killed him?” Poppy asked.

  “Unfortunately, that’s why I needed to talk to you guys. Chief Kincaid has his eye on two suspects.” My heartbeat skittered into high gear as I said the words aloud. “Mom and Dad.”

  “Was Kern brought in for questioning?” Boone asked, grabbing a leather pad and a slim gold pen from the pocket of his bright green Ralph Lauren polo shirt. “He shouldn’t talk without a lawyer.”

  “Not yet.” I sighed. “But I’m sure that’s on the chief’s to-do list. He probably wants to get all his ducks in a row first. You know, process the forensic evidence and check for witnesses.”

  I prayed no one had seen my father enter or leave the library.

  “Do either of your folks have an alibi?” Boone had donned his attorney persona. His practice consisted mostly of family and real estate law, but in his heart he fancied himself as defense lawyer Will Gardner from The Good Wife. Before Will was gunned down, died, and disappeared from the show.

  “We won’t know that until they have the time of death.” I nibbled on my fingernail, then glanced at the ragged edges. It was a good thing I no longer had the money to spend on manicures, or I would have just blown thirty bucks. “As I told the chief, Dad stayed late to finish up the Fall into Autumn display, so he was at the store until twelve thirtyish. And Mom was
there from a little after noon until we went to the library together.”

  “Too bad you don’t know when Jett died. That could solve all your problems.” Poppy snapped her fingers. “Let me call a friend in the ME’s office and see if they’ve figured it out yet.”

  “Whoa.” Boone held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Do we really want it getting around that we’re interested in that? It could make Chief Kincaid think we’re trying to arrange a cover-up.”

  “My friend can keep his mouth shut,” Poppy protested. “Besides, it’s worth the risk. If Jett was killed while Yvette and Kern were in the dime store, Dev can quit worrying about them.”

  “I kind of doubt that he was murdered too much before we found him,” I said slowly, giving myself time to make a decision.

  “Why is that?” Poppy asked, leaning forward. “Was there still blood oozing out of his head when you got there? Was he still warm?”

  Boone and I exchanged a glance. Poppy wasn’t known for her tact.

  “No. The state of Jett’s body has nothing to do with why I think he was killed only a few minutes before we found him.” It was getting tough to remember the sequence of events among all the lies I’d told. If I wanted my friends’ help, they needed to know the truth. I trusted them with my life, and I would just have to trust them with my parents’ lives, too.

  I exhaled noisily and said, “I want your solemn vow that nothing we discuss leaves this room. It’s vital that no hint of what I tell you gets to the police.”

  Boone pursed his lips, then said, “I still have your retainer from last spring, so technically, I’m your attorney and anything you say to me is covered by lawyer-client privilege.” He glanced at Poppy, dug his wallet out of his pants pocket, handed her a dollar bill, and said, “I am formally hiring you as my administrative assistant. You, too, are under the umbrella of confidentiality.”

  “Right.” Poppy nodded soberly. “What are my duties? Should I take notes?”

  “Nope.” Boone chuckled. “Just listen and don’t tell anyone what you hear.”

  Feeling slightly better about revealing my parents’ secret, I leaned forward and said, “The reason I think Jett was murdered minutes before my mother discovered his body is because he was texting Yvette almost continually until the time she left the store.”

  “Won’t the police see that?” Boone tilted his head. “That will help establish the TOD and could give your parents an alibi.”

  “Except Jett’s phone is missing, and we got rid of Mom’s,” I admitted, bracing myself for my friends’ reaction. “Since they both had prepaid cells, they can’t be traced.”

  “Why in the hell would you do something that stupid?” Poppy screeched.

  “It’s a long and overly complicated story.” I chugged my second margarita. “Let me start this grisly tale over.” I explained that Jett had repeatedly texted my mother to come to the library while she ignored her current husband to flirt with her former one.

  “Okay. I can see how that would look bad,” Poppy admitted grudgingly.

  “You haven’t heard the worst.” I hushed the panicky voice telling me to shut up. “I wasn’t with Mom when she found Jett’s body.”

  “Oh?” Poppy and Boone said simultaneously, both raising their brows.

  “Mom was alone.” I crossed my arms. “She went to the library to find out what Jett wanted, then planned to have lunch with my father.”

  “Shit!” Poppy swore.

  She looked as if she would have liked to use a stronger word, but the three of us had made a pact to stop dropping the F bomb. Boone rarely swore, but Poppy and I had gotten pretty bad about it.

  “When Mom found Jett dead, she called my father, who, like an idiot, hurried right inside to do I don’t know what.” I couldn’t keep the annoyance I felt for both of my parents out of my voice.

  “Dumb move with him being on parole and all,” Poppy commented.

  “You think?” I snapped. “Anyway, Dad called me, and since I wasn’t sure if he could be sent back to prison for being at a crime scene, I had him leave. Then, before I called nine-one-one, I concocted the lunch-with-Mom-and-stepfather scenario to account for my presence.”

  “So you lied to the police, tampered with evidence, and are shielding a suspect.” Boone frowned, then used his thumb to smooth the line between his brows. “Not your smartest moves, Dev.”

  “We’re talking about my father.” I scowled at Boone. “What should I have done? Thrown my dad to the wolves in order to protect myself?”

  “Kern would have probably been okay.” Boone didn’t sound convinced.

  “Really?” I barely stopped myself from screaming. “Because, as Chief Kincaid so helpfully pointed out, Jett is new in town, so the only obvious motive for killing him seems to be one that centers on my mother. Like, say, a jealous ex-husband who wants her back.”

  “There is that.” Poppy collapsed back against her chair, subdued.

  “Damn it all to hell!” I screamed, so frustrated I thought my head might explode.

  “What’s done is done.” Boone rested his chin on his fist. “Assuming Dev isn’t going to tell the police what really happened, we’re the only ones with all the facts. Which means, if the crime is going to be solved, we have to figure out who killed Jett.”

  “Any ideas?” I asked, turning my gaze on Boone. He was one of the smartest people I knew, so maybe he had a plan to exonerate Dad.

  Poppy and Boone shook their heads, and the three of us sat in silence until Poppy jumped up and said, “Time for another round.” She headed to the bar. “Booze always helps me think much more clearly.”

  After Poppy returned with a fresh pitcher, she said, “If we take love and jealousy off the table, what other motives are there for murder?”

  “Hatred, robbery, revenge, obsession, mental illness, drug deal gone wrong, the victim knowing too much.” Boone pursed his lips, clearly racking his brain for more reasons someone would kill.

  “You know,” Poppy said, tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail against her glossy lips, “we’re overlooking the obvious.”

  “The money.” I leaned forward, a flicker of hope in my chest. I had almost forgotten Boone’s statement about the delay in the library’s endowment. “Why was the funding he promised late? We need to investigate Jett’s finances.”

  “How will we do that?” Poppy asked.

  “I could probably get that information for you,” a sexy baritone drawled from the doorway.

  I jerked my head up and saw Jake leaning against the wall. My insides melted and relief oozed through my veins. Like Dudley Do-Right, my very own ex–U.S. Marshal had appeared to save the day.

  CHAPTER 10

  When I eventually tore my eyes away from the sexy ex-lawman, I looked at Poppy and Boone. They glanced at each other uncomfortably, then back toward the doorway. Following their gaze, I saw a tall, gaunt woman step from behind Jake. She had to be his ex-wife, Meg.

  I could tell that at one time she had been a gorgeous redhead. Long, limp ginger hair framed her once beautiful face, and her empty green eyes were fringed with thick, dark lashes. Her vacant stare and shrunken cheeks only hinted at the person she had been before her ordeal at the hands of a serial killer.

  Struggling to sort through my feelings, I finally forced myself to stand and walked over to the woman. I held out my hand to her and said, “I’m Dev Sinclair, and you must be Meg . . .” It dawned on me that I didn’t know her last name. Did she still go by Del Vecchio? I really hoped she didn’t.

  When Meg didn’t respond, Jake placed her flaccid fingers in mine, and as I shook them, I raised a questioning brow in his direction.

  He lifted a shoulder, then guided his ex to a chair and said, “These are my friends Poppy and Boone.” Jake turned to them and asked, “Could you two keep Meg company while I talk to Dev?”

 
“Sure.” Poppy nodded, then asked the eerily silent woman, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Dr Pepper,” Meg whispered, surprising me when she actually spoke.

  “Coming right up.” Poppy turned to Jake. “How about you, cowboy?”

  “When we get back, a Shiner Bock would sure hit the spot.” Jake cupped my elbow and said to the others, “See you in a few.” He glanced at his ex-wife, then said to Poppy and Boone, “Call me if there’s a problem.”

  “Will do.” Boone nodded. “I’ve got your cell number right here.” He tapped the device clipped to his belt, then turned toward Meg and said, “Let me tell you about our charming town square. It has quite a history. During the Civil War, there was a standoff between the Union and the Confederacy.”

  Before I heard whether Meg responded to Boone or not, Jake said, “Let’s go sit in my truck. I’m pretty damn sure we should talk in private.”

  “Good idea.”

  I followed him as he wound his way through the packed bar. Jake was at least six four, with the type of powerful, well-muscled body produced by hard work on his uncle’s ranch rather than hours in a fitness center. Although considering the sculpted biceps and triceps visible below the short sleeves of his white T-shirt, I was certain he spent time at the gym as well.

  I shivered as a flash of unexpected heat sizzled through my body, leaving me breathless. The first time I’d seen Jake, his arresting good looks had totally captured my attention. And even during his long absences, said hunkiness had kept him in my thoughts.

  While I was drooling over Jake’s hotness, I completely missed the fact that he had stopped moving. Slamming into his back, I stumbled and would have fallen if not for his quick reflexes.

  Once Jake steadied me, I peered around him to see what had halted our progress. At first all I saw was a large group of people gathered near the stage that was usually used only during the weekends, when Poppy hired local bands or DJs to liven up the club.

  Then I noticed the man clutching the microphone. It was the alientology professor who had spoken at the city council meeting. He wore a white tunic with a gold-embroidered insignia over his left breast. Squinting, I could just make out that the patch seemed to depict a solar system, although not one I recognized.