by Maria Geraci
“What do I do now?” Brittany asks. “About tonight?”
“Like I said, just act normal. You’re supposed to go to the book club meeting, right? So show up at seven like everyone else and play along.”
“Play along,” she repeats intently. “Got it.” She gives me another hug for good measure before taking off in her car.
I look down at Paco. “We’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t we? With this whole Travis, Will and Brittany thing?”
He makes a face that says, I told you so.
“You did not tell me so.”
He barks and wags his tail in response.
This is insane. I think I’m having a conversation with my dog.
Brittany isn’t the only one who needs a reality check.
I make one more attempt to get in touch with Will, but he’s still not answering his phone, and he’s not at home either. He hasn’t changed his mind, has he?
No. Of course not. Will is coming to the book club meeting tonight to straighten out this mess. I know he is.
It’s only five thirty, so I’m early, but it doesn’t hurt to get a jump start. Since there will be lots of people attending tonight, which means lots of cars, I park my VW bug around the corner so that I don’t take up a premium parking space that someone else might need. Between Paco and the muffins, I’ll have to make two trips, but that’s okay because it’s a crisp, cool afternoon. No sweating from the car to the door today for anyone. I’m not sure what Betty Jean will make of me bringing Paco along to the meeting, but tough. If I’m forced to be the help tonight, then I’m bringing my dog.
I clip the leash to Paco’s collar and pull a container of muffins from the back seat, balancing it carefully so that they don’t get jostled because, trust me, there’s absolutely nothing worse than a bruised muffin.
Paco and I walk on the sidewalk, admiring the houses that have been decorated for the holidays. Betty Jean lives in an older neighborhood composed of modest homes. But the lush gardens and pretty little white picket fences, along with the location, just a block from the gulf, make it prime real estate. I’ve only been to her house a couple of times, but even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out which one is hers because right there in her front lawn is a professionally made sign that says BETTY JEAN’S BOOK CLUB MEETS TONIGHT!
Paco and I grin at each other. Even though Betty Jean might get on my nerves at times (okay, a lot of the time), I can’t help but admire her tenacity. Sure, she got the wrong J.W. Quicksilver to Whispering Bay. And yeah, he’s a con man who has probably ripped off who knows how many people, but if it wasn’t for her, Will wouldn’t be stepping up to the plate tonight and telling everyone who he really is. So, in effect, she really has brought the real J.W. Quicksilver to town. Just not the way she thinks she has, but it will be the end result people remember about tonight.
I knock on the door and wait for her to answer. After a couple of minutes, I knock again. Knowing Betty Jean, she’s probably still primping. I really hope she’s ditched the seventies wig.
Paco starts whining. “Don’t tell me you have to pee again?”
He looks up at me with those soulful brown eyes of his.
“Oh, all right.” I unclip his leash. “Go do your thing. Just not on the sign,” I tease. But instead of sniffing around in the front yard, Paco takes off like a bat out of hell and disappears from my sight.
Great. Just what I need. He probably thinks this is a game. I place the container with the muffins on a rocking chair on Betty Jean’s front porch because now I have to chase my dog. “Paco! What’s wrong with the yard in front?” I demand, following him around to the back of the house.
Only I don’t see where he’s gone. “Paco!” I yell.
The sound of familiar whimpering hits my ears. I’ve heard that sound before. And it’s never been good. My mouth goes dry.
I find Paco hovering near the back door. His eyes are glazed, and he’s panting. What’s he seeing or hearing that I don’t? There’s a note taped to the door. With a hand that’s already shaking, I take it down and read:
Lucy, I went to the Piggly Wiggly to get more wine. The door is open so go ahead and start setting up! BJ.
I turn the knob, and sure enough the door is unlocked. “You with me?” I ask Paco.
His eyes are so big, they look like they’re going to explode out of this head. I step inside Betty Jean’s kitchen. “Hello? Anybody home?” Other than an empty bottle of wine on the counter and two dirty glasses in the sink, the kitchen is obsessively neat, to the point that it could probably pass the white glove test.
Paco nudges me with his nose, then dashes off into the next room.
I take a deep breath and force my wobbly legs to follow. If my history with Paco repeats itself, I’m pretty sure what I’ll find. I’m just not sure who it will be.
I walk into the quiet living room. Paco sits calmly at the foot of a lounge chair where a man is slumped over. My first reaction is intense relief that’s it not Betty Jean. There’s blood on the man’s shirt. A quick inspection of the surroundings reveals a knife (Ugh! My least favorite murder weapon) lying on the coffee table in the center of the room.
I check the man’s pulse. Nothing. His skin feels cool to the touch, and he’s not breathing.
Paco slumps to the ground and begins to whine.
I reach into my pocket and retrieve my cell phone. Travis answers on the first ring. “Lucy, I’m glad you called. I just heard back from Agent Billings. You were right. That wasn’t J.W. Quicksilver we saw last night. His name is Jefferson Pike, and he’s wanted for questioning in at least three different con operations.”
“Correction. The man’s name was Jefferson Pike. I’m at Betty Jean’s house. He’s dead, Travis.”
10
Betty Jean, Travis, Rusty Newton, three other cops, a fire truck and an ambulance, complete with screaming sirens and flashing lights, arrive on the scene at the same time. Paco and I meet them all at the door.
“What on earth! What’s going on here? Why are all these people trying to get into my house?” Betty Jean stomps past me, takes one look at the body slumped in her living room chair, and stops cold. “Good gravy.” She blinks. “He isn’t dead, is he?”
“Actually, yeah,” I say.
She sucks in a breath. “Heart attack?”
“Looks like he took a knife in the chest.”
“Huh, what do you know? I told the Neighborhood Watch they needed to up their game, but does anyone ever listen to me?”
She starts to walk past the body, but Travis stops her. “Sorry,” he says, “but we need to keep the area secure until we collect all the evidence.”
One of the cops takes Betty Jean to sit inside a squad car until, as he puts it, “she calms down enough to answer questions.” She seems pretty chill to me considering there’s a dead body in her living room.
Travis waits until Betty Jean and the cop are out of earshot. “Are you all right?” he asks, his gaze full of concern. “Do you need to sit down? How about a glass of water?”
I think Travis has me confused with someone else. “That’s sweet, but first things first. You need to arrest Hoyt Daniels or whatever his real name is. He was in on the con with Jefferson. The assistant … Anita. She was probably in on it too. They can’t leave town, Travis.”
Now that he’s reminded that I’m no shrinking violet, he goes back into cop mode. “Let the police take care of that. Tell me everything that happened once you got here. And don’t leave out any details.”
I tell him everything that went down, including finding the note on the back door. He asks me to retrace my steps, so I show him how I opened the door, then looked around the kitchen and eventually went into the living room. “And you got here around five thirty?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“What made you go into the living room?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Try me.”
“Paco led me into the house. He kne
w there was a dead body inside. And exactly where it was.”
“Because he’s a ghost whisperer?”
“Because he’s … something. Except a cadaver dog. We know he’s not one of those.”
Travis’s expression turns grim. “Do you mind waiting outside while we finish up in here? I have more questions, but I want to make sure the crime scene guys get everything.”
I wish I could take a walk around the block to let go of all this adrenaline inside, but the street is closed off. There’s already a crowd gathered behind the barricades. Paco is in the front yard with Rusty. I take over dog-watching duty and join Betty Jean, who’s sitting in the back of a police car, drinking coffee.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
The Farrah Fawcett wig sits crooked, and her mascara is smeared. Tears? From Betty Jean? I put my arm around her. “This must be a shock.”
“I’ll say. Do you know how much your property devalues in price when people find out there’s been a murder in the house?”
O-kay. Good to know some things never change.
She looks at me. “Maybe … I’m in a little bit of shock,” she admits. “I was only gone thirty minutes. When I left, he was very much alive, believe me.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “I overheard the cops say that he isn’t really J.W. Quicksilver.”
“His name is Jefferson Pike. And he’s a con man.”
She snorts. “Figures.”
“What was he doing here? I thought the book club meeting didn’t start until seven.”
“He came over early to set up.”
The hair on my neck stands on end. “Oh yeah?”
Her blue eyes harden. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”
“Is that what you plan to tell the police?”
“Yep.”
Whatever Jefferson Pike was doing here two hours before book club, it sure as heck wasn’t helping Betty Jean “set up.” I try to think of a way to ask her what I want to know without hurting her pride. Since Betty Jean isn’t easily offended, I go the blunt route.
“Jefferson Pike was running a con. He and another man named Hoyt Daniels, although that’s probably not his real name, were swindling people out of money and promising them that J.W. Quicksilver was going to publish their books.” I pause. “Is that what he promised you? Because if it was, there’s no shame in that. He was good. They both were. According to Travis, the FBI was looking into him for three other con schemes.”
Betty Jean looks amused. “What do you take me for? I’m no schmuck. No one’s swindling me out of any of my ex-husbands’ hard-earned money.”
Emphasis on ex-husbands plural. Betty Jean doesn’t mind telling you that she’s been married and divorced four times. She’s also telling the truth. She never gave Jefferson Pike any money.
Rusty taps on the car window. “Are you all right to answer questions now, Betty Jean?”
“Right as I’ll ever be.” She pats my hand on the way out of the car. “Looks like you won’t need to serve tonight after all. But I still want the muffins you brought. I can freeze them for next week’s book club.”
Right.
With Betty Jean back in the house, I walk over toward the barricade. My parents, as well as the rest of the book club members, are on the other side. “Lucy! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Mom asks. “Is it true? Is J.W. Quicksilver—I mean, is that man dead?” Apparently, word has gotten out on the street that the man they all came to see wasn’t J.W. Quicksilver but an impostor.
“I’m fine. And yes, he’s dead. But until Travis gives me permission, I can’t say much else.”
Dad shakes his head. “Horrible. The crime in this town is reaching epidemic proportions. And to think, we used to be the Safest City in America,” he says, referring to the city’s tagline. He has a point.
“Lucy!” Brittany pushes her way to the front of the crowd. “What’s going on? I hear there’s been a murder!” She lowers her voice. “Where’s the real J.W. Quicksilver? Didn’t you tell me he was going to be here tonight?”
“I have no idea where he is, but … yeah, he’ll be here. He promised.”
“Who is he?” she demands.
“Not now, Brittany.”
She makes a huffing sound. “Then when?”
“I promise you, once you find out who it is, this will all make sense.”
A woman in the crowd taps Brittany on the shoulder, and they engage in conversation.
Victor Marino and I exchange glances. He looks worried. Not that I blame him. Now that Jefferson Pike is dead, everything about his con scheme will come out, including the victims he swindled. I hope the police can recoup his money.
My cell phone rings. It’s Will!
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not on the phone.” He sounds tense. “Can you come over to my place?’
“Not until the police tell me I can leave.”
“Leave where? Lucy, what’s going on?”
“The guy who’s been impersonating you? His name was Jefferson Pike. And he’s dead.”
“Dead?” There’s a pause. “How?”
“He was stabbed in the chest. Paco and I found him at Betty Jean’s house. Speaking of which, aren’t you supposed to be here for your big coming-out party? What happened?”
“That’s part of the long story. I’m on my way to the police station to talk to the cops.”
My Spidey sense shakes a tambourine in my face. If I’ve learned anything in these past couple of months, it’s that I should listen to it. “No, don’t go to the cops. Not until we have a chance to talk first.”
“But—”
“Promise me,” I add firmly.
We make plans to meet up later tonight, then hang up. Rusty hands me a cup of coffee. I take a deep, appreciative sip. “Thanks. I needed that. Can you thank the Good Samaritan who provided this?”
“You can thank her yourself.” He points to the other side of the barricade, where Heidi Burrows stands behind a card table handing out donuts and cups of coffee.
She’s shameless. She really is. I suppose this is more of her “community relations” program. This coffee doesn’t taste nearly as good as it did a few seconds ago.
Heidi spots me and waves. I have no choice but to wave back. “Thanks for the coffee,” I call out.
She makes a thumbs-up gesture.
Ugh. I wish I could take a much-needed walk around the block, but I can’t leave until the cops okay it. Paco nudges my leg with his nose. He has his I need to do my business look.
“You want some privacy?”
He barks once, which we’ve pretty much established means yes.
I walk him over by the side of the house near a row of hibiscus bushes. It’s dark now, so the motion detector lights come on. A lizard pops its head out of a gutter. Paco goes after him, but of course, the lizard retreats inside. He repeats this jack-in-the-box routine, popping his head in and out, then scurrying back into the pipe. Paco totally falls for it, whining and pawing at the gutter. For the world’s smartest dog, he sure can be dumb sometimes.
“Paco, leave that lizard alone.” Still, I let this continue for a few minutes because everyone deserves a guilty pleasure now and then. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s—” Something shiny catches my eye. I bend over and scoop it up from the grass.
It’s an earring. A big one. Betty Jean must have lost it while gardening. An image of Betty Jean all decked out in her Farrah Fawcett wig and these earrings makes me smile. I slip the earring into the pocket of my jeans.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
I jump at the sound of Travis’s voice. I must be more spooked than I realized. “I was just taking Paco for a walk. Is it okay if I go now?” Because I really need to talk to Will and find out where he’s been all day.
“Do you mind if we do one more walk through the house?”
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I reenact everything, starting with finding the note taped to the back door, walking through the kitchen, and then finally into the living room. They’ve taken Jefferson Pike’s body out of the house. Bloodstains mar the chair and the carpet, making it look like a set right out of a slasher film. I really hope those stains come out.
“Where’s Betty Jean?” I ask. “Still outside with Rusty?”
“I believe so.”
“The knife? Did it come from her kitchen?”
“Looks that way,” says Travis. “There’s no defense wounds on Pike’s body, and from the way his body was found lying on the chair, it looks like whoever did this took him completely by surprise. He might have even been asleep when he was stabbed.”
I turn to stare at him. I’m pretty sure my jaw must be on the floor.
“What?” he says.
“I can’t believe you just told me all that. Don’t you remember our first murder investigation?” I deepen my voice to imitate him. “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t answer those kinds of questions.”
“I guess I was kind of a jerk, huh?”
“Just a little.”
We smile, then we remember where we are and what we’re doing, and the mood turns somber. My bladder takes a moment to remind me of something else as well. “Do you mind if I go to the bathroom? I promise not to touch anything.”
“Sure,” says Travis. “The rooms have all been cleared.”
I head down the hallway and open the first door on the right, but it’s not the bathroom. A pair of walking shoes is arranged neatly in front of a closet door. I recognize them. They’re Betty Jean’s. This must be her bedroom. And like the rest of the house, it’s obsessively tidy.
Except one thing. The bed is unmade, and the sheets are rumpled.
An image so disturbing pops into my head that I have to immediately block it out, otherwise my brain might explode.
Betty Jean and Jefferson Pike? No! But then … why not? She’s only about fifteen years older than him, and she’s been looking mighty sassy lately. I always thought her aggressive cougar routine was just that—a routine. Clearly, I’ve been naïve.