Hammered

by Ruth Bainbridge

  Had Lyddie really said that? Or was this a clone?

  It sure looked like Lyddie Wexler, but that last statement put her identity in doubt. Sam treated her friend to the frigid stare that she was known for having perfected. The snoop now professing innocence in all things surreptitious looked away.

  “Okay,” Lyddie admitted, averting the laser beams shooting out Sam’s dark eyes. “I do sometimes break with that rule … sometimes,” she reiterated for emphasis.

  “Ha!”

  The sneering response blasted; it hardly mattered how much noise she made. JUST ADD COFFEE was deserted this morning, just like it had been ever since Doris paid an unannounced, illegal visit and got conked on the head for her trouble.

  What had she been thinking in coming here?

  There still wasn’t a clue as to why she came a-calling in the wee hours of the morning, but if Lyddie would just get over herself, maybe they could find out.

  Sam assessed the situation. Vibes told her something was very wrong with her whacko ex-friend, so she continued in an analytical quest for what had changed Lyddie’s ‘tude around. Her former acquaintance was all over getting into other people’s business, but this morning?

  Not so much.

  Sam’s eyes hardened as she amped up the ferocity of the beast of a stare to Level 10. It was as high it went without melting the ice caps.

  Finally! A reaction!

  The outfit squirmed right along with Lyddie, but that was the way it went with stretch fabrics. The bit of spandex added to the chiffon top and cotton crop pants wasn’t about to hinder movements—or disguise them either.

  “There’s something there, Lyddie … something you’re hiding. Just tell me what it is and I’ll stop.”

  “I’m not hiding anything! Cheesh!” her ex-friend blurted as her hand knocked into the chai tea. After yesterday’s binge drinking of coffee, her friend had opted for a softer, less-caffeinated direction.

  “Bit of an overreaction for it being nothing.”

  “I just don’t like being stared at,” Lyddie asserted under her breath.

  “You? You don’t like being the center of attention? Ha! People that don’t covet attention don’t dress up like sparkly unicorns every day!”

  More squirming. What was going on under that bouffant hair piled extra-extra high this morning?

  Maybe the monument built to honor Pike’s Peak was a clue.

  “Okay, so you don’t want to pry into people’s lives, you don’t want attention, but you’re dressed in a figure-hugging outfit and your hair is stacked high enough to serve as an aerie for an eagle. So I’d say you’re either trying out as vocalist for the B-52s or … or … something else is going on.”

  Silence. The whiff of a body-scented cream. Sam wasn’t about to give up.

  “There is something, isn’t there, my callous ex-friend?” Sam remarked, homing in. “You’re not as upset about what’s happening to me as you used to be, are you, Lyddie? In fact, you’re so not upset that I’d say you’re a wee bit happy. Is that it? You happy? Happy about me being carted off to jail? No, that would only give you a momentary surge of pleasure. You are h-a-p-p-y,” she spelled with air quotes. “Happy, but about what? With your miserable existence, what could you possibly be happy about?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam,” came the weak denial and so much more fidgeting.

  Three people stopped and pointed at the shopfront while the battle of wills over the round coffee table went on. Someone had to give in first, and Sam refused to backtrack on her—

  There it was!

  The tugging in the right corner of the mouth slathered in a delicious shade of mango.

  “I knew it! You are happy! So happy that you’re trying to hide a smile!” Sam accused. Although Lyddie fought to remove it by engaging in a clownish attempt at frowning, the tell-tale clue was there, giving Sam her answer.

  “Now I know! You only get this happy for one reason, Lyddie! That dirt bag Bailey Deesing called, didn’t he? He wants back in your life, doesn’t he? And someone left that barn door open—and that someone would be you!”

  The volume was high enough for Katy to hear, but the barista had gotten her act together and pretended she didn’t.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Lyddie protested as she took out her compact and gave her make-up the onceover in the tiny mirror. A chime on her cell phone rang out. The smile she’d denied having widened as she tittered and read the message. Texting back, she hit send before having the nerve to look up and meet the lethal look in Samantha’s eyes.

  “Did I ever tell you that I love your hair in French braids? Makes you look so sophisticated.”

  “Nice try, Lyddie, but you are so busted! Only one person in the entire world makes you giggle that way.”

  Resignation was apparent. Lyddie adjusted the kiwi-green top. Evidently, the fashionista hadn’t lost her touch with using the Bedazzler she’d bought on e-Bay while in high school.

  “Okay, he called last night and apologized—

  “And one thing led to another and you hit the sack with him in it! You could have at least made him take you out for dinner.”

  “I did,” her friend defended.

  “Yes, but you paid, didn’t you?”

  The red of shame spread not so unattractively over the perfect white complexion. It gave the impression of spending too much time at the beach and not under the sheets doing God knows what with that mooch.

  “And because of that doo-doo head, you’re throwing me under the bus. Well, I hope you have fun with your whiny boy toy while I’m in prison.”

  “I will,” Lyddie assured. “And the travesty is that you don’t look good in orange, while I, on the other hand, rock that color. You’re going to look like a freak show while making those license plates … or do inmates sew jeans now?”

  “Both! And thank you, Ms. Braggadocious.”

  “I am not bragging. It’s just the truth, Sam. Orange complements my undertones. And I don’t know why you’re so touchy about me getting back with Bailey … oh, well, yes, I actually do. You’re upset because you don’t have a boyfriend and haven’t had one since Rad Evans. You should have taken up True and Zeke on their offers. You might be in a better mood and not have them hating on you and wishing you dead.”

  “You’re embellishing to suit your narrative—and your wardrobe. You sure you studded enough rhinestones on that blouse, because it looks like you’re headed to Vegas to try out as a lounge singer!”

  The blue eyes rolled upward.

  “Cheap shot and so typical of the jealous girl trope.”

  “Jealous? Of you lowering yourself by rubbing up against Deesing’s flabby, fish-blubbery body?”

  “Weight? Are you going to start with weight?”

  “No, I’m going to start with flab! When I picture him, he’s always prone … on the couch with nachos and salsa nearby.”

  “Prone? Are you sure you don’t have the hots for him? Maybe I should make him aware that you’re lusting after him and that—”

  “You’re not right in the head!” Sam snapped. “But that was an excellent idea about True and Zeke. Although I don’t know why you left Corona off the list. Just think. I could have gotten shagged and learned how to use those scales he keeps in the closet to measure out a kilo.”

  “He is hot, Sam. No flab there,” Lyddie remarked.

  “That’s what happens when you don’t eat food and rely on beer for sustenance.”

  “Beer has nutrients—all you need to live on.”

  “Bailey taught you that, didn’t he?” Sam responded.

  Crickets.

  “‘Your silence doth do you in, woman’. It’s a Bailey-ism … if I remember correctly.”

  “Like you know anything about him,” Lyddie muttered.

  Sam took another glance out the window. There was that guy again. The one in the blue tee.

  Where had she seen him before?

  “I know Bailey would be
happy that he’s the topic of our conversation, but this isn’t about him,” Sam responded.

  “It isn’t?”

  “No, it most assuredly is not. Now are you going to help me or not?” the shop owner queried as Lyddie checked her phone for more messages.

  Sam took another look out the window front. A whirring neuron pinged.

  She’d seen that guy outside her shop every day since opening … that’s where she’d seen him.

  “I don’t know what I could do,” her ex-friend responded. “Face it, you’re screwed. You set up shop in a cursed location, and misfortune will continue to befall you for the rest of your days. It’s as simple as that.”

  Cursed?

  While Sam dissected why her ex-bff used that exact word, Lyddie crossed her curvaceous legs at the knee. The matching rhinestoned slides she wore on her milky-white feet caught the sunlight, temporarily blinding Sam. She closed her eyes and waited until the spots disappeared. The pause gave her time to think and figure out who the informant could be.

  “You talked to my mother, didn’t you?” the soon-to-be-defunct coffee shop owner accused. “And that’s what you got out of the conversation with her … that this place is cursed. You know, maybe you deserve Bailey.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say!” her former friend lashed as she tucked her phone away, but neither confirmed nor denied the accusation.

  “Does that mean you’re back in my army?”

  The blue eyes flitted about.

  “Only until the end of this week. Bailey and I are going away for the weekend. Besides, I’m too old to play Nancy Drew.”

  Nancy Drew?

  KABOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

  A more massive charge than before detonated inside of Sam, but she gave nothing away.

  “Great!”

  The malice for her ex-bff was covered pretty well—except for the homicidal tremor running down both arms and making her hands shake.

  “But let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re saying that all I have to do is talk to the people on this list you’re making and that’s it?” Lyddie queried.

  “Yes,” Sam shot back.

  “When will this list be ready?”

  “By noon the latest. I’ll text it to you so you can get started.”

  “Fine. But I already know the name of one lech that’ll be on it …” the blonde across from her began.

  Sam knew the one … and she was right … he was a lech and would be included.

  “What about him?”

  “For the record, I am not sleeping with him. Not!” Lyddie fired. “I was free-spirited and fancy-free when we started this investigation, but now … now my heart and soul belongs to Bailey.”

  “Wait a minute! Are you telling me that you would have slept with him before Bailey re-entered your life?” Sam blurted.

  “I did not say that,” Lyddie responded, gathering up her belongings.

  No, but it sure was implied.

  Sam kept the comment to herself as she waved goodbye to the kiwi bird mincing down the street.

  Now for some housekeeping.

  She took out her cell and hit speed dial.

  “Good morning, dear.”

  “Mom,” she answered cheerily.

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon, but the coffee was delicious this morning. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my daughter. This town doesn’t know what it’s missing,” Grace responded.

  God bless mothers.

  Her mother had been her only customer this morning. She’d crossed enemy lines to support her daughter’s endeavor.

  People did not deserve mothers.

  Did not.

  “Yeah, thanks again for the purchase, but when you were here … or rather … after you left … did you happen to run into Lydia?”

  “Why, yes … yes, I did. She was on her way to see you, but … how did you …”

  “Know? How do you think?”

  “She repeated something I said!”

  “Mom, please consider anything we talk about confidential and not to be shared with anyone … not even Dad.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sammi. I didn’t see the harm in mentioning what we discussed. You are friends with her and—”

  “Were! WERE! I thought I made that clear, but it’s okay. Just no more. Okay? Please? Kiss kiss?”

  The cajoling lightened the mood.

  “Whatever you say, darling,” Grace answered with a titter.

  Sam mumbled a goodbye before tucking the cell in her purse. Katy was left in charge as she took off for a full day of snooping. She’d get to the bottom of things and getting to the bottom started with compiling that list.

  CHAPTER 14

  The scandal had attracted a soupcon of national interest.

  While Mountain Valley had managed to keep a lid on Dengrove’s Ponzi scheme, they didn’t have jurisdiction over the rest of the country. The handful of published stories allowed Sam to get a fuller picture of the parameters of what Peter Dengrove had pulled off, and just as importantly, it provided her a list of names that were added to Elliot Harper’s.

  Harper had been the lech Lyddie referred to. He’d been the only known variable in the equation, but thanks to America’s robust media, he now he had company. These were the names she’d been after and she could now compile that list for Lyddie to check out. After all, these were Dengrove’s victims and the ones who had lost major buckeroos. The swindle provided a primo motivation to get even by offing Doris, the woman who hadn’t been indicted, but had played a part in the trial. It seemed that the UCLA graduate had been called upon to testify against her husband, and to her credit, she had.

  Doris had sworn under oath—and with the threat of perjury—that she’d overheard a few of her husband’s random one-sided conversations. They were hardly enough to alert her as to what was really going on.

  At least, that was her story.

  Sam took a moment. Slugging down water, she rested her eyes by looking around.

  The town library.

  It was the perfect place to dig up the old dirt.

  The grand old place hadn’t changed and Sam would know. Ever since a child, she’d loved nothing better than to visit the Mountain Valley Public Library. If the truth be told, she still loved to. It was why she’d kept up the habit of checking out one book per week to read. She’d zip through the New York Times bestseller list while in bed with Mr. Cuddles. But today’s journey to the majestic old building was different and punctuated by frequent looks over her shoulder.

  No way would she forget about the albatross.

  That was why she kept a vigilant watch out for Detective Death.

  It would be so like the vulture to continue to sneak around and keep tabs on where she went, violating her civil rights to go where she pleased in the process. It infuriated her to know there was a killer getting away with murder all because some stooge detective was too pig-headed to get the facts necessary for the hammer-wielder’s arrest.

  That was where she came in.

  “How we doing, Sam?”

  It was enough to jostle her out of her thoughts and cause her to smile.

  “Just fine, Mrs. Hundle,” she responded.

  The woman who served as librarian for the past forty-five years sat next to her. Leticia Hundle started at eighteen, and at sixty-three years old, she qualified for early retirement, but that wasn’t going to happen. She felt about books the way Sam felt about Taz.

  Leticia’s dark skin was unlined and glowing, but one only needed to meet her to realize that reading and intellectual curiosity kept one young. Nope. The librarian was way too enthused about literature to bail on being one of its caretakers.

  “I’m surprised about you reading up on Peter Dengrove. That is not to mitigate the importance of his crimes, but it has been more than awhile. Do you mind my asking what prompted this excursion into the town’s burial grounds?”

  “Doris prompted me,” Sam retorted.


  She spoke fully and completely, but then, she trusted Mrs. Hundle not to open her mouth—not even to Lyddie. Past interactions with the gracious woman had taught her that. Anything that happened within the thick stone walls was sacrosanct and wouldn’t leak past the boundaries of the iconic structure.

  “Yes, Doris,” Leticia mumbled, rubbing her chin.

  The librarian was one of the handful of acquaintances who had called Sam after the discovery of the body and expressed sympathy over her predicament. The sexagenarian got that it was a huge deal to discover a body—and it was. The sad thing? That Sam had no time to sit and process the sickening aftermath of how it affected her.

  She was too busy defending herself against Detective Death’s erroneous theories.

  “So you think her death might be related to Dengrove’s criminalities?” Leticia queried.

  “Money is the root of all evil,” Sam quoted before taking a few more sips from the bottle of water balanced on the tabletop. Water was about the only thing allowed in the library and that rule was strictly enforced.

  Mrs. Hundle could hear a candy bar unwrapping from a mile away.

  She knew that because, in younger days, she’d tested her … multiple times … and had the treats ripped out of her hands. The seized candy had been kept at the front desk until she was ready to leave. Around the sixth grade, Sam realized it was a cat-and-mouse game that she’d never win and gave up trying to outfox the woman in charge.

  “Is that why you’re writing their names down? Because you think they might be connected to the incident?”

  Sam hunched her shoulders.

  “The loss of millions of dollars would be strong incentive … and that’s what some of these men lost.”

  Leticia grimaced before her face set back into place.

  “But they could afford to lose it … that’s another way of looking at it.”

  “True, but I doubt they’d see it that way. One usually doesn’t get philosophical when being scammed. And besides, they got wealthy by caring what happened to their earnings and not because they didn’t,” Sam replied as she read on.

  “You could be right. But the part that I never got over was that the money was never recovered. Inanimate objects can’t disappear on their own.”