by J. R. Ripley
He scratched his cheek. ‘I’m a little surprised, too.’ He looked beyond me. ‘I was expecting Mr Rothschild and Mr Wolfe. Not you, Ms Miller.’
Well, gee. I’m glad to see you too. ‘I stopped by for a visit,’ I explained. ‘Come on in.’ I led him down the foyer to the great room like I owned the place. Clive sat on the sofa leafing through a bridal magazine.
‘Look who’s here,’ I said. ‘You remember Detective Highsmith.’ The man who’d questioned him for hours on end.
Clive stood. ‘It’s hard to forget the man who’s put you behind bars.’
Good point.
‘Just doing my job,’ Highsmith was quick to reply. ‘Speaking of which, where’s Johnny? It’s him I’m here to see.’
My eyes flitted around the room. ‘Yeah, where is Johnny?’
Clive gave me a funny look and locked his eyes on mine. ‘Why, he’s not here. You know that, Maggie.’
I opened my mouth then shut it again. I may be slow but I’m not brain-dead. Highsmith had traded out his day-off clothes for a nice gray suit. Very becoming. The man looked good even when being a pain in the butt.
Highsmith slowly paraded around the room. His eyes fell on the tumbler on the coffee table. The third tumbler in the room. Mine was over on the kitchen counter. Would he notice? Had he already?
In case he had not, I positioned myself in front of the third glass. ‘That’s right,’ I said, hoping my voice wasn’t quivering as much as my stomach was on the inside. ‘Clive and I were having a drink and some dinner.’ I sniffed the air. ‘Spinach and ham quiche. Care to join us, Detective?’
Highsmith looked at me so hard I thought my knees would crumble to dust and I’d collapse right there on the floor. Johnny would hate the mess that left on his fancy rug. Finally Highsmith shook his head. ‘No, thanks.’ He turned to Clive. ‘When Mr Wolfe returns, please tell him I’d like to speak with him. Soon,’ he added. ‘Here’s my number.’ He handed Clive one of his business cards.
I watched Highsmith drive off, then checked my reflection in the gilt-edged mirror over the entry table in the foyer. I was sure I had to be blue in the face because I hadn’t breathed the whole time the detective had been in the room.
I raced back to the great room. Clive stood. I noticed his glass was empty. ‘Where is he?’
Clive shrugged.
‘Johnny!’ I hollered. ‘Get out here now!’ Not a sound, not a whisper, not a rustle. Not even the scurrying of little paws across the tiles. I frowned and marched over to Clive. ‘Where did Johnny disappear to now?’
‘He went out the back.’ Clive pointed toward the French doors leading to the pool patio. ‘He said he was in no mood to talk to the police.’
‘Well,’ I replied, in disbelief, ‘can you imagine what kind of mood the police are going to be in if he keeps trying to avoid them?’
The oven timer beeped twice.
Clive headed for the kitchen. ‘Care for some dinner, Maggie?’
‘No, I wouldn’t care for some dinner, Clive.’ I stormed after him. ‘What I’d care for is some answers.’
He opened the oven door, slipped on an oven mitt and pulled out the most heavenly scented quiche I had ever laid nostrils on. My stomach begged for attention. I ignored it. For once.
Clive set the quiche on a trivet and pulled off the black silicone mitt.
‘I know that Lisa Willoughby was taking you and Johnny to court, Clive.’ I stood between him and the quiche. ‘What I don’t know is why.’
‘Lisa was a clerk in our shop,’ Clive answered. ‘She also did some alterations work.’
‘And?’
‘Johnny accused her of stealing from us.’
‘Money?’
Clive nodded. ‘Over twenty thousand dollars.’
I whistled.
‘He also accused her of stealing clients from us.’
My brow wrinkled up. ‘How? You mean she was selling gowns, too?’
‘No,’ answered Clive. ‘But customers would come in for alterations and she would suggest doing them herself, out of her home. Johnny found out, fired her and told everybody why. Lisa learned he was badmouthing her and decided to take us to court. Hired a lawyer down in Flagstaff and everything.’
I took a deep breath and thought about the ramifications of what Clive had told me. That sounded just like Johnny. The guy had a mouth. ‘So both you and Johnny have what the police would consider strong motives for killing her.’
Clive nodded reluctantly. ‘But I didn’t! We didn’t.’ He raised his right hand. ‘I swear, Maggie.’
‘I know.’ I ran a finger along my cheekbone and paced the kitchen. ‘So, you knew that Johnny had been at the Entronque before we arrived. You were afraid he might have had something to do with Lisa ending up at the bottom of the stairs.’ I shook my head. ‘You confessed because you wanted to protect him.’
Clive nodded ever so slightly.
‘But how did you know?’
‘How did I know what?’ Clive asked. The quiche sat on the counter, ignored and growing cold.
‘How did you know, or why did you suspect that Johnny had been there before us?’
Clive managed a smile. ‘It was his cologne. It’s quite rare and expensive.’
‘I’ll bet,’ I muttered.
‘I don’t know anyone else in the area who uses it,’ Clive continued. ‘So when I smelled it in the stairwell on my way up I immediately thought of Johnny.’
I was having some thoughts about Johnny myself. While I didn’t like to think he was a murderer, he did have a quick and keen temper. ‘So where is he now? Behind the sofa? Hiding under the bed?’
‘I told you, Maggie. Johnny went out.’
I bit my lower lip. ‘The BMW’s still in the driveway. I saw it when Highsmith drove off.’ Besides, I’d blocked the car in. There was no sign of Johnny in the yard.
‘He probably went for a walk around the neighborhood.’
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t wrap my mind around Johnny taking a pleasant evening stroll around the neighborhood, waving to his neighbors as he passed and patting their little doggies on their little doggy heads. I could picture him pushing Lisa Willoughby down a stairwell. Maybe not in cold blood but in the heat of the moment? Definitely.
‘One more thing,’ I said. ‘How do you explain how your dress swatch came to be lying beneath Lisa Willoughby’s body at the bottom of the stairs?’ That little but incriminating detail had been bothering me for a long time.
Clive gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘I must have dropped it climbing the stairs. I’d put it in my pocket. It must have fallen out of my pocket on my way up.’ He shook his head and paced the kitchen floor. ‘I didn’t realize I’d lost it. Like I said, when I got to Markie’s Masterpieces no one was around. At least, not that I could see. So the fabric was, or at least I thought it was, still in my pocket.’
He paused, his sad eyes falling on me. ‘Then I heard the noises and …’ He flapped his arms haplessly. ‘Well, you know the rest.’
I did.
I grabbed my purse and left Clive with his quiche. Glancing at the clock on the VW’s dashboard, I figured Brad Smith, ace reporter, was somewhere between Hanging Louie’s and wanting to hang Maggie Miller about now. I couldn’t help smiling over the thought.
As I backed down the drive, sharp, unseen bony fingers dug into my shoulder.
TWELVE
I screamed.
The tires screamed, too, as I slammed on the brakes. I screamed a second time as my head bounced off the roof. I twisted my neck around, unfortunately twisting the steering wheel in the same motion.
The VW dodged to the right and scraped a large chunk of sandstone at the edge of the drive. The car shuddered.
So did I. I mean, who places a freaking rock so close to their driveway?
‘Careful!’ hollered Johnny, his hands clutching the back of my seat. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘Me? Have you lost yours?’ My eyes bugged out at him.
‘Just keep driving,’ Johnny hissed. ‘I paid a fortune for that rock installation!’ He drove his fist into the back of my seat while remaining hunched over in back.
I eased slowly down the drive. Very slowly. A glance at the boulder the right front bumper had connected with told me that I did not want to see the bumper itself. And when Mom saw it, she was going to kill me. Maybe I could blame it on an alien invasion.
For a brief moment, I considered running away. Unfortunately I’d already done that once. That’s what I was doing in Table Rock, Arizona. I wasn’t sure how much further there was to run. I’d previously considered Alaska, but trading a dry heat for a wet bitter cold was not an option. The only good iceberg was lettuce – with plenty of Thousand Island dressing.
‘Any place in particular you’d like a lift to?’ I asked, sitting outside the guard gate of the Four Seasons and waiting for a break in the traffic on the street. ‘Like a loony bin?’
‘Very funny, Miller.’ He peeked over the seat. ‘Any sign of that detective?’
‘Not unless he’s hiding behind a cactus.’ Personally, I didn’t think the detective could carry it off. Too much muscle.
Johnny sat up in the back and dusted himself off. He straightened his precious hair, looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. I eased in line behind a couple of slow-moving pickup trucks. Pickups seemed to outnumber people in Table Rock at a ratio of about three to one, having replaced the horse ages ago. I supposed that was a good thing, at least from the horse’s point of view. ‘Where to, Johnny?’
He pushed out his lower lip. ‘You can drop me off at your place.’
That suited me. I was exhausted. Drop Johnny off, take a long bath. Enjoy a relaxing meal in front of the TV watching one of my favorite home remodeling shows. The perfect end to a perfectly awful day.
I parked at the curb. Johnny extracted himself from the tiny backseat and followed me to the door. I quirked an eyebrow, the house key dangling in my hand. ‘Did you want something?’ Small flying insects buzzed around the porch light. Great, I’d probably end up having my arms chewed up by flesh-eating zombie no-see-ums. I’d seen it happen in a late-night horror film once. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Johnny shoved the sleeves of his sweater down to his wrists. ‘No, thanks. Show me to the guestroom. A good night’s rest is all I need.’
My hand froze, key in lock. ‘The guestroom? This is a one-bedroom apartment and a tiny one at that. It isn’t the Ritz.’
The door popped open. Mom stood in the doorway wearing her bathrobe and slippers. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she said with a big grin on her face. A damp towel curled around her hair. ‘Well, hello, Johnny.’ She pulled the former pro skater inside. ‘You didn’t tell me you were bringing home company, Maggie. Have a seat, Johnny. What can I get you to drink?’
‘I didn’t know I was bringing home company,’ I muttered under my breath. My mother and Johnny had met on several occasions. For some unfathomable reason, she adored the former Olympian. My cat, Carole Two, curled her tail around my left leg and mrowled. I headed to the kitchen to check the status of her food and water.
‘I suppose I could settle for a dry martini,’ Johnny called from the sofa.
I gritted my teeth and yanked open the refrigerator. Gee, no instant dry martinis. I grabbed a can of Bud Light. ‘Could you settle for a beer?’
When Johnny declined, I popped the top anyway. Waste not, want not. I found a foil-covered pie tin in the fridge and extracted it. ‘What’s this?’ I held it out.
Mom glanced my way. She’d made herself comfortable on the sofa beside Johnny. ‘Shepherd’s pie. Your sister brought it over. I helped myself but there’s plenty left if you want to warm it up. How about you, Johnny?’ my mother asked. ‘Would you care for some?’
Johnny declined. Smart choice. He’d met my sister. I picked through the mashed potato top of the pie. There was no telling what was in this thing, but I could make a pretty good guess what wasn’t in it – anything tasty or normal, like ground beef, instant mashed potato mix and whole-milk cheddar cheese. No, this devil-in-a-pie tin probably contained not-so-beef-flavored wheat gluten granules, quinoa and soy cheese. I tossed it back in the fridge.
I thought I recognized okra and banana peppers in the thing, for crying out loud.
I grabbed a store-bought frozen bagel to go with the beer and took the chair opposite the sofa.
‘So, what brings you here this evening, Johnny?’ Mother is ever so polite.
‘He’s on the lam from the police,’ I said, somehow managing to speak with a mouthful of semi-thawed plain white bagel.
Mom looked from me to Johnny. Her hands gripped her knees. ‘Is that true?’
Johnny scowled. ‘No, your daughter’s exaggerating.’
‘Detective Highsmith showed up at Johnny’s house wanting to talk to him.’ I smiled malevolently at Johnny. ‘Johnny preferred hiding in the backseat of your car to talking.’
Johnny’s ears turned red. He folded his arms over his chest. ‘I wasn’t in the mood. I needed some alone time.’
I rolled my eyes and took a swig of beer. I was about to choke on the dry bagel lodged in my throat. ‘Chicken.’ I didn’t bother to tell him that if convicted of murder he’d be getting his fill of alone time.
He pressed his hands to his temples. ‘I need some time to think.’
‘Of course, Johnny. You take all the time you need. You’ll stay here tonight with me and Maggie.’
‘I don’t know,’ Johnny said. He shot me a crafty look. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’
‘It’ll be no trouble at all, Johnny.’ Mom made a face at me. I stuck my tongue out at her. ‘Maggie and I will share the bed. Maggie will make up the couch for you.’
‘I will?’ No way I was spending the night with Johnny under the same roof. ‘There are plenty of topnotch hotels in the area.’ I could picture the two of them already, out on the patio doing sunrise yoga together. What next? Carole Two dropping into the downward droopy eared dog pose? Mom would probably expect me to join them, too. Yeah, right. I’d join them the day some yogi master invented exercises designed for actually humans, not circus contortionists.
Mom stared me down. I gave in first, pretending I needed a drink.
By the time I’d gotten the sofa made up with the spare sheets, it was quite late. Just my luck, there had been an old Sonja Henie movie playing on TCM called Thin Ice. Ms Henie had been a real-life, three-time Olympic gold medalist. We sat through the entire film, despite my yawning hints that it was past my bedtime – I did have to get up early to open the café.
But Johnny and Mom paid me no attention. Not even Carole Two took an interest in my welfare.
Johnny was quite smitten with Ms Henie’s skating sequences in the film. I was about to turn off the kitchen light when somebody pounded on my front door. Carole Two shot to the bedroom where Mom was already in the middle of her pre-bed yoga routine.
Johnny, still wearing his day clothes minus the slippers, looked at me from the sofa. I shrugged and motioned for him to get in the bathroom.
I stepped to the door. ‘Who is it?’ I pressed my ear to the door. Getting a visitor at nearly midnight on a Tuesday night was a little bit unnerving and I wasn’t about to open the door without knowing who I’d be facing.
‘Maggie? Is that you? It’s me, Brad Smith.’
I groaned. The jig was up. I smoothed down my shirt, taking a moment to compose myself and making sure that Johnny had shut the bathroom door.
I threw open the front door. ‘Brad, what a surprise.’
The reporter took a step back and looked at me. He was dressed as he had been earlier in the afternoon, though he’d thrown a nice charcoal-colored sports jacket over his shirt. ‘I’ll bet.’ He didn’t look happy. ‘So what happened?’ He twisted and peeked through the door. ‘I waited over an hour for you at Hanging Louie’s. I tried to call you but kept getting your voicemail.’
He had phoned
me several times. I had ignored each call. I stepped onto the porch, swatted a mosquito and pulled the door shut behind me. ‘Low signal, I guess, or the phone’s on the fritz.’
‘Oh? While I was waiting, I ran into some friends, had dinner and drinks with them then came here. I saw the lights on.’ He tilted his head to look through the window. ‘You have company?’
‘Yes,’ I answered quickly. ‘Sorry about tonight. Family emergency.’
‘Emergency? Is everything all right?’ Concern showed on his face.
‘Don’t worry. Everything’s under control now.’ Or so I hoped. ‘I’d invite you in but it looks like my mother will be staying with me for a while.’ I nervously cleared my throat. ‘You know, what with the emergency and all …’
‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, thanks. That’s sweet. I’m sorry,’ I said, lowering my eyes, ‘I should have called.’
A piercing scream filled the air. I spun around.
Brad’s hand flew to the doorknob. ‘What the heck was that? That sounded like a woman’s scream. Your mom’s in trouble!’
I grabbed Brad’s arm and yanked him back across the threshold, slamming the door shut behind me. I was out of breath. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, patting the reporter’s arm. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Brad seemed uncertain. ‘It sounded like she was in real pain. Don’t you think we should go check on her?’
I shook my head. ‘No, really. It – it’s part of Mom’s pre-bed ritual.’ I rolled a finger round my ear. ‘She’s quirky that way. She’s into primal scream therapy.’ I was going to be needing some therapy myself what with my mom, Johnny Wolfe and a cat named Carole Two all occupying my personal space.
Brad’s hand rested on the doorknob. ‘I still think we should check.’
I took his hand. ‘No, really, I—’ I didn’t know what to say. I already sounded like an idiot. So I did an idiotic thing. I kissed him. Right there on the porch. Right there on the lips.
The kiss lingered for several moments longer than I had planned. I wasn’t sure whose fault that was. Finally I took a step back and said, ‘It’s getting late. I’m sorry but I have to be at work at six.’ OK, so really it’s supposed to be five-thirty. One of these days I’d make it on time.
