by J. R. Ripley
My head shot around and color rose to my cheeks. VV and Detective Highsmith were canoodling side by side on a bench in the corner all right. I slid down in my seat. ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’
He shrugged. ‘They only walked in a few minutes ago.’
I ordered Brad to take me home.
‘So soon?’
‘Yes,’ I said, snatching up my purse. ‘I don’t think Acheson is going to show.’ It was why we’d gone to Hopping Mad in the first place. ‘Besides, I have to be up early tomorrow for the Labor of Love.’
‘You’re participating? Good for you.’
‘It wasn’t my idea. I was sort of talked into it.’ Talked into, coerced … put on the spot. All I knew was that it was costing me a bundle. On the plus side, all the money raised was going to some very worthy charities around town. ‘I’m supposed to be there practically before dawn to set up.’
Brad threw some money on the tabletop. ‘I’ll be covering the event for the paper. Maybe we can hook up afterward?’
I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I hadn’t realized how stifling the air inside the pub had become. ‘Sure,’ I said without thinking. ‘Sounds good.’
Brad dropped me off at my door. Carole Two mrowled and wrapped herself around my legs. To settle her down I tossed her a treat from a bag on the counter. It was some sort of vegan cat treat called VegOut Cat that my sister, Donna, had brought over for her.
Incredibly – though the treats were made from such disparate and distasteful-sounding ingredients that included brown rice, corn protein, extruded soybeans, peas, flax seed, molasses and clay – she seemed to love the stuff. I gave her a couple more, rubbed her tummy, brushed my teeth, put on my PJs and headed off to bed with the cat one step ahead.
It was only a double-sized bed and Mom was already sprawled across more than half of it. I made do, too tired to care. It had been a long day.
Who knew it was going to be an even longer night?
THIRTY-ONE
I fell out of bed and scratched around on the chair by the door for my phone. A glance at the clock told me it was one a.m. Who freaking texts at one a.m.? I mean, besides the Grim Reaper. I quickly looked over my shoulder. Nope, no Grim Reaper. I breathed a sigh of relief and got a mouthful of cat tail. I stuck my finger over my nose to stop me from sneezing. I shooed Carole Two away and wiped cat hair off my tongue.
The phone bleeped again to announce the incoming text. In this case, the alert also worked double-duty as a homing device. Following the electric bleep, I grabbed the phone from between my pile of dirty clothes and crawled to the living room, listening to Mom grunt and toss in her sleep.
Carole Two stuck her butt in my face once more and I scooped her up to prevent her doing it yet again. I pushed the hair from my face and looked at the text message. It was from Laura. All it read was: Maggie r u up? Something strange going here.
I rubbed my face. Something strange? What the devil did that mean? I composed a reply: It’s middle of night – what r u talking about?
I about had a heart attack when the phone suddenly rang loudly and vibrated in my hand. I dropped the cat and answered it quickly so I wouldn’t wake Mom. I wasn’t in the mood to start making explanations. Especially when I didn’t know what was going on.
‘Oh, good, you’re awake,’ Laura said.
‘I am now,’ I grunted. ‘What’s up?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been hearing lots of noises downstairs, though, coming from Lisa’s condo. Sounds like fighting. I thought you’d want to know.’
I gulped in dry air, my heart pounding and my head aching. I was exhausted but curious. I glanced toward the bedroom. Mom was still asleep. I could borrow her car and be back before she ever knew I’d been gone. ‘Be right there.’
I ended the call and, moving stealthily, pulled on an old pair of cotton candy-colored pink sweats. I stole Mom’s VW key from her purse. Carole Two gave me the evil eye. ‘Whose side are you on?’ I whispered. ‘Mom’s? I took you in.’
I gave her a couple of treats – a bribe to keep her mouth shut – and was on my way.
There was a light on in Lisa Willoughby’s condo when I arrived at Meadow Reach Condominiums. The light upstairs at Laura’s place was on, too. I went there first and rapped gently on her door. Laura answered in a vintage pair of blue jeans that hung on her hips and a long-sleeved blue flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. ‘I’m glad you came.’ She pulled me inside.
‘So what’s the deal?’ I felt a little out of my league what with her managing to look so svelte and me so … svelteless in my wrinkled and coffee-stained sweatsuit.
‘I’m not sure,’ Laura replied. Her cornflower-blue eyes were stretched with worry. She held a coffee mug in her hand and pushed it toward me. ‘Coffee?’
‘Why not?’ I reached for the mug. ‘It doesn’t look like I’m going to be getting any sleep tonight, anyway.’
Laura chuckled. ‘That makes two of us.’ Her eyes looked a little puffy but otherwise she seemed to be holding up way better than I was. Maybe she was used to these late hours. I wasn’t.
I followed her to the kitchen where she poured herself a cup of coffee from a sleek machine resting on a gray granite countertop. ‘I know it’s quiet now,’ Laura began as she fell into the chair beside me at the small dinette, ‘but you should have heard the racket a little while ago.’
‘What do you think it was?’ I helped myself to an Oreo.
‘I’m not sure but I definitely heard arguing. I recognized Houston’s voice. But the other fellow …’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure who that was. He had a foreign accent.’
I sat straighter. ‘A bit of an Irish lilt, perhaps?’
Laura nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe. You think it was Mr Acheson?’
Sounded like a falling out among thieves. ‘Houston Willoughby and Irwin Acheson had probably been fighting over the murder and the loot. Dissention among crooks and all that. You know how it is.’
Laura smiled. ‘Like in the movies?’
‘Exactly.’ I banged the table. ‘The lights are still on downstairs.’ I set down my mug. ‘I say we go bust up their little murderfest.’
‘We?’ Laura looked rather dubious.
‘Sure, we. Why not, we?’
‘Why not?’ Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Because they’re two big angry men. Because if you’re right, they murdered Houston’s sister in cold blood—’
‘Maybe her aunt, too.’
Laura’s brow furrowed. ‘Really?’
‘Yep – at least it’s one theory. I haven’t confirmed it yet.’ I was waiting to see what Brad Smith dug up before making up my mind. ‘But I’d say it’s a definite possibility.’
Laura grunted and refilled our mugs. ‘All the more reason to stay where we are.’
‘Are you kidding? What did you call me for?’
‘Well …’
‘You want to know what’s going on, don’t you?’ I zeroed in on her eyes. ‘You don’t want to be sleeping with a murderer or two right downstairs from you, do you?’
‘I – I suppose not.’
‘Come on.’ I shoved back my chair. ‘We can handle a couple of restaurateurs. We are women; we are strong.’ I flexed my bicep. It was a good thing I was wearing a baggy sweatshirt: it hid the fact that I had no biceps to speak of. Certainly nothing like those guns Irwin Acheson was packing. I was definitely outgunned.
Laura slowly rose, grabbing an Oreo for courage. ‘Actually …’
‘Actually what?’ I grabbed another cookie and popped it in my mouth.
‘There was a third voice. A man, for sure. He sounded Spanish.’
I stopped mid-chew. ‘Shpanishh?’ I swallowed. ‘Spanish?’
‘Yes.’
This was a new piece to the puzzle. Who was this mysterious Spanish partner of theirs? More than ever, I wanted to bust up the party downstairs. As if to taunt us, the sounds of shouting started up again. I looked at the floor. ‘Come on!’ I
raced downstairs with Laura at my heels. Through the half-open curtains I saw Houston and Irwin standing nose-to-nose arguing in the living room. Fists were balled.
I grabbed the front door handle.
‘Don’t you think you should—’
I threw open the door and listened to the hinges protest as wood cracked against stucco.
‘Knock first,’ panted Lisa at my back.
Houston and Irwin froze mid-macho poses.
‘Mind if we join the party, boys?’ I smiled.
The two men stepped apart, their eyes blinking. From the blood vessels snaking red along their eyeballs I’d say they’d each had a beer – or six.
Irwin looked at Houston. ‘What’s she doing here?’
Houston shrugged. He looked haggard. I noticed dark sweat stains running along his armpits, staining his shirt.
Irwin turned his eyes to me. ‘Come to see me?’ He winked my way.
Yuck.
Laura spoke up. ‘You’re creating quite a disturbance. You woke me.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘What’s with all the shouting?’ I waved my arms about. ‘You’re keeping the neighbors up.’
‘Big deal,’ snorted Houston. He waved his hand back at me. ‘A bunch of old fuddy-duddies.’
I saw Laura bristle out of the corner of my eye. I guess she didn’t like the old crack. I didn’t blame her. I cast a chiseled look at Houston. ‘What if one of them decides to call the police?’
Houston scowled. ‘Shut the door, will you.’
Laura was closest to the door. She looked at me. I shrugged and told her to go ahead. I didn’t think we were in any real danger – at least, not any real immediate danger. ‘So you want to tell us what’s going on?’
‘Our business,’ quipped Irwin, ‘is none of your business.’ He pointed his finger at me.
‘Why don’t you shut up?’ Houston said wearily to Irwin. He fell into an armchair and sighed. ‘This is all your fault anyway. You let him get away.’
I scratched my head. ‘Let who get away?’
‘The guy who broke in here, of course. Who did you think?’
They guy who broke in here? I thought I’d caught two murderers arguing over their spoils. What the heck was going on? I paced up and down the carpet. ‘Are you trying to tell us that someone broke into Lisa’s condo?’
Houston nodded. ‘That’s right. I thought you knew. You said you heard the shouting.’ He looked at Laura. ‘Sorry about the noise, Laura.’
Laura frowned. ‘A burglary?’
‘Yeah, we came home and there he was,’ Houston said. ‘I figure it was the same guy that broke in the other night. I can’t tell you how mad it made me.’
The same guy as the other night? Oh, he meant me and Johnny. Far be it for me to correct his misconception.
‘I’ll say,’ chuckled Irwin. He’d grabbed a six-pack from the fridge and waved it around the room. ‘Anybody care to join me?’
Houston peeled off a can and popped it open. ‘I caught him in the bedroom red-handed. I asked him what he was doing. He had one of the dresser drawers open. He looked surprised.’
‘I’ll bet,’ I said. ‘What did he do then?’
Houston shrugged a shoulder. ‘Got all hostile. Started yelling. Opening and slamming the drawers.’
‘Weird,’ said Laura.
Houston continued, ‘Yeah, said he was looking for something. But he wouldn’t say what.’
‘Looking for something?’ I repeated.
Houston nodded. ‘I tried to stop him but he wasn’t quitting. And babbling in Spanish the whole time. Sounded angry.’ Houston wet his lips. ‘I was pretty angry too. I mean, some stranger rummaging around in my sister’s stuff. I could see the busted screen on the floor. He’d climbed in through the window.’ Houston spat. ‘Gutsy.’
‘I was out here,’ Irwin explained, ‘in front of the TV. I heard Houston yelling and caught him wrestling with the little guy in the bedroom.’
Little guy? What did that mean? Practically every guy was little compared to Irwin Acheson.
Houston’s face soured. ‘Yeah, well, little or not, that guy put up a fight.’
Irwin ground his fist into his opposite hand. ‘He stopped fighting when I showed up.’
Houston laughed but it wasn’t a pleasant laugh. ‘Yeah, he stopped all right. And then when I told you to keep an eye on him until we could figure out what he was doing in here and maybe call the police, you let him get away.’
Maybe call the police? I’d definitely be calling the cops if I caught an intruder in my bedroom. If I didn’t die of fright first. ‘You let him get away?’ I said incredulously, looking at all those muscles on Irwin.
Acheson blushed and looked at his feet. ‘I only turned my head for a second—’
‘Yeah,’ quipped Houston, waving toward the entryway, ‘and one second was all it took for that old guy to run out the door.’ He shook his head and took a swig of Miller. No relation. ‘Now we may never find out who he is or what he wanted.’
‘Believe you me,’ Irwin said, ‘if I ever see that scrawny Mexican again he won’t get away from me a second time.’
‘Mexican?’ I said. So Laura was right. She had heard someone yelling in Spanish too.
‘Yeah,’ Irwin answered. ‘I don’t know what he was saying but he was sure saying a lot of it.’
‘No kidding,’ mumbled Houston.
Laura toyed with a dry paintbrush near the easel in the front corner. ‘Who’s the guy on the canvas?’ She ran the brush along the edges of the unfinished chin.
‘Who cares? It’s all trash now.’ Houston rose. He draped his arm over Laura’s shoulder. ‘I really am sorry about all this. Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow.’
Laura shook her head. ‘Sorry, tomorrow’s a really busy day.’
Not to mention, tomorrow was today.
‘OK, Sunday then.’
Laura set down the brush. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Are you sure? We could—’
Irwin laughed loudly. ‘Give it up, man,’ he chided. ‘Can’t you see you’ve been shot down?’
Houston shot his business partner a look that would have withered a lesser man. Not Irwin Acheson, though. He remained unbent, guzzling beer.
Laura’s hand went to her mouth and smothered a yawn. ‘I think we should be going. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, Maggie.’
I nodded. ‘A very long day.’ In fact, it was nearly time to get up. Ugh.
‘Next time we get together in the middle of the night,’ Irwin hollered, ‘let’s make it just you and me, Maggie!’
I stiffened and walked faster.
Houston held Laura back at the door. ‘About tonight: it won’t happen again.’
Laura nodded. ‘I hope they catch whoever it was. You really should report the break-in to the police.’
‘What would I tell them? That some unidentified Hispanic male broke in then took off when I caught him?’ Houston chewed his lip. ‘At least he didn’t get anything.’ He massaged the back of his neck. ‘I sure would like to know what he was after, though.’
Me, too.
‘Next time I see him,’ bellowed Irwin, ‘I’ll hold him by his skanky ponytail until the fuzz show up!’
I paused on the front step. ‘Did you say ponytail?’
Houston and Irwin nodded. ‘Why does that mean something to you, Maggie?’ Houston asked. ‘Do you know this guy?’
I wasn’t sure but somewhere, in the deep recesses of my mind, I had a hunch that I did.
THIRTY-TWO
Carole Two mrowled for her breakfast. I shook my head and yawned. ‘OK, OK.’ Mom was already out. I fed the cat, dressed and got moving. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck and the sandman. In that order. It was going to be one long day. My body was bruised and scraped from what might or might not have been an accidental fall on a hard flight of steps. I hadn’t had three hours’ sleep.
I still hadn’t figured out whether Cody was clumsy or dangerous
– or both. And I didn’t know where he’d been at the time of Lisa Willoughby’s murder. I was keeping him near the top of my list of suspects. I admittedly had absolutely no motive I could attach to him but I was putting him there anyway. Besides, he was younger than me and drove a snazzy new Corvette. He deserved to be on the list.
The only good news was that I had borrowed Mom’s Bug and returned it unscathed with her none the wiser. I guess all that yoga made her a good sleeper. I rode my bike through the quiet predawn streets, nothing but the hum of my Schwinn’s tires rolling along the pavement. I parked the bike in the café storeroom, grabbed an apron and the few supplies I could carry and started over to Table Rock Town Square on foot.
The lights were on across the street at Karma Koffee. That meant I’d probably be having predawn company – Trish and Rob Gregory. I’d have preferred Vampira and the Wolf Man. Heck, I’d have preferred my dead ex-husband, Brian.
Laura was waiting for me when I arrived. The whole square was buzzing with early birds setting up their tents for the weekend event. Strings of soft white lights were strung along the rooflines of each tent, giving the square a festive, holiday appearance. Samantha Higgins, the Labor of Love chairperson was conspicuously absent. Next year maybe I could chair the event and sleep in late too.
Laura smiled and lofted a steaming paper cup of coffee as I approached.
‘Merry Labor of Love,’ I said, stuffing a frown away. Laura’s cup was a medium-sized Karma Koffee to-go cup. To make matters worse she had one of their muffins on a Karma Koffee-branded paper tray in her left hand. Crumbs clung to her glossy lower lip. Moist, delicious, succulent, flaky crumbs … I steeled myself.
Laura ran her tongue along her lips. ‘You made it.’
I yawned and set my supplies on the tabletop. ‘I see you’ve been busy.’ I hugged her. ‘Thanks for coming.’ I waved my hand over the table. ‘And for bringing all this.’
Laura nodded. ‘I didn’t sleep much after—’ She cast a glance toward Rob and Trish Gregory lingering nearby. ‘You know, last night.’
‘Same here,’ I admitted. I had a feeling I should know who’d broken into Lisa’s condo, but the answer wasn’t coming to me. Somebody with a ponytail. Helpful, but not very. That could mean anybody from a six-year-old in pigtails to half the hippies in Table Rock.
