by Maria Geraci
“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.
After I finish up in the bathroom, Travis secures the house. The barricades have been taken down and the crowds are mostly gone. So is Heidi and her impromptu “coffee stand.”
Rusty tells Travis that he needs to call the police station ASAP. “I’ll be right back after I take this call,” he tells me.
Betty Jean finishes up a conversation with one of the crime scene guys, then turns to look at her house with a bleak expression. Not that I blame her. The yellow crime tape plastered over her front door serves as a not-so-subtle reminder of what happened here this evening.
“They said I can come back tomorrow afternoon,” she says.
“Where will you go tonight?”
“Panama City. There’s a hotel on the beach that still has those vibrating beds.” She wags her brows up and down.
The idea of Betty Jean driving forty-five minutes to Panama City and spending the night all alone in a seedy motel is depressing. She has friends, but I don’t see her asking any of them if she can crash at their place. She’s too stubborn and independent for that.
I can’t believe what I’m about to do.
“Well, I just hope I can get some sleep tonight. I’ll tell you a secret. I hate living all alone. The thought of going back to that big, empty apartment … ” I shudder dramatically. “It’s times like this I wish I had a roommate.”
“Try melatonin,” says Betty Jean. “Or whiskey. Either one does the trick every time.”
Looks like I’ll have to try the direct approach again. “Want to spend the night at my place? I could use the company.”
She ponders this a moment. “Why not?” Then her eyes narrow. “You don’t snore, do you?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but it doesn’t matter. I have a guest bedroom. You’re more than welcome to it. For as long as you need.”
“Let me see if I can sweet-talk one of those cops into letting me back in the house to grab my toothbrush. I’ll meet you at your place.” She struts over to talk to a police officer.
Travis stops me on the way to my car. “I just got off the phone with the station. Normally, I wouldn’t share this with anyone, but since you’re the one who tipped us off about Jefferson Pike, I thought you’d like to know that about an hour ago we caught Hoyt Daniels and Anita Tremble. They were outside of Tallahassee when they got stopped by the highway patrol for a broken taillight. Lucky for us, the officer noticed we’d just put out an APB on them. They’re being brought to Whispering Bay for questioning.”
“Good. Are you going to arrest Hoyt for Pike’s murder?”
“His name isn’t Hoyt Daniels. It’s Archie Clements. According to the FBI database, he’s a person of interest in the same cons they were looking at Pike for.”
“What about Anita Tremble?”
“It looks like she just joined the gang a few months ago. No alias on her that we can find.”
“Not yet anyway. So, you’ve got the killer. Right? You’re probably going to find Archie Clements’s fingerprints all over Betty Jean’s house.”
“The knife was wiped clean.” Travis blows out a breath. “You’re not going to believe what Clements is saying.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s going around screaming that he’s innocent.”
“Naturally. But he’s also giving us the name of the murderer too.”
I laugh incredulously. “I bet. Who’s the poor dupe he’s trying to pin it on?”
“J.W. Quicksilver.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. Luckily, it’s dark outside so Travis won’t notice. “What?”
“He says the real J.W. Quicksilver came to see Pike this afternoon, and the two of them had it out. As goofy as his story sounds, it actually makes sense. Quicksilver had a motive. Pike was using his name to swindle people. Now we need to find out if this world-famous reclusive author had the opportunity.”
“How … I mean, does Clements know where to find J.W. Quicksilver?”
“I’m on my way to police headquarters to find that out.”
Chapter Eleven
I give Betty Jean the keys to The Bistro and tell her to “knock herself out,” then Paco and I hightail it straight to Will’s. I get there to find Will lying on the couch holding a bag of frozen peas to his head. Underneath the bag of peas is a lump the size of a walnut.
“Holy wow, what happened?”
“I got knocked over the head.”
“By who?”
“Jefferson Pike.”
“I think you better start from the beginning. Wait. Better yet, let’s get you to a hospital. You can tell me the story in the car.”
Like a typical man, Will blows off his injury. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“No one’s asking you. You’re getting that lump checked out and that’s that.”
After all our years together, he knows better than to argue with me. We leave Paco back at his place. If Will had a TV, I’d put on Animal Planet (Paco’s favorite channel), but Will doesn’t own a set, so Paco will have to make do with a bowl of water and a blanket for company.
It’s a forty-five-minute drive to the nearest hospital, which gives me more than plenty of time to hear this story. Since Will is in no condition to drive, we take my car.
“Ever since you told me about the publishing scam, I haven’t been able to think straight,” says Will. “I decided I didn’t want to wait until the book club meeting to tell everyone the truth. My plan was to go directly to the cops.”
“Good idea. What stopped you?”
“Too-stupid-to-live syndrome. I figured that once I went to the cops and they arrested Pike, he’d probably clam up and I wouldn’t get the answers I needed, so I decided to confront him first.”
“You went to confront a potentially dangerous con man? All by yourself? You’re right. You are too stupid to live,” I say, feeling a fresh spurt of anger come on. “He could have killed you.”
“I told you, I wasn’t thinking straight. All I could think of was that this guy was using my name and my reputation as an author to dupe innocent people out of their hard-earned money. And then when Brittany told me how the chamber of commerce was comping a beach house for Pike and his accomplices—”
“Archie Clements and Anita. Travis told me they’re both in custody and that Archie is claiming that you killed Jefferson Pike.”
“Me? I’ve been tied up in a closet for the past four hours. I haven’t had time to kill anyone. Although I admit, I would have enjoyed wringing that bastard’s neck.”
“You better not let anyone hear you say that. Besides, someone with a penchant for knives beat you to it.”
“Was the crime scene gruesome?”
Will knows that my least favorite episodes of America’s Most Vicious Criminals are the ones that involve stabbings. “Strangely enough, it wasn’t too bad. Whoever did it aimed right for the heart. It looks like they used a knife from Betty Jean’s kitchen, wiped it clean of prints, then left it behind on the coffee table.”
“Definitely a crime of passion.”
“My money is on Archie. He’s the partner. I bet Jefferson was planning to double-cross him by stealing the money and running off to South America.” Out of the corner of my eye, I
see Will sporting a grin. “Hey. It happens on TV all the time.”
Will gets serious. “Yeah, but I can’t imagine that they’d make that much money off this scam. They were only going to be in town, what? A couple of days? Let’s say they managed to get ten victims at a few thousand bucks each. That kind of money is hardly worth the effort.”
“To you it’s not, Mr. Fancy Rich Author, but ten or twenty thousand dollars to someone like me? That’s a lot of money.” My cell phone pings. I glance at my screen. It’s Betty Jean. “What does she want?” I mutter.
Will follows my gaze. “Why is Betty Jean Collins calling you at ten o’clock at night?”
I put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Betty Jean. Everything all right?”
“Where are you? I’m bored. I’ve already searched through all your drawers and closets.”
I can’t very well tell Betty Jean that I’m taking Will to the hospital because then she’d ask a lot of questions, and I’d either have to lie to her or drag her into our mess. Besides, I have a feeling that when it comes to Jefferson Pike, she might have her own bit of a mess to worry about.
“I’m … at Will’s. We’re working on a crossword puzzle together. Lots of intricate pieces, and we can’t stop until we finish. So don’t wait up. This could take a while. And please stop going through my things, okay?”
Betty Jean chuckles. “Crossword puzzle, huh? Is that what your generation calls it? Oh well. You said to knock myself out. Does that include the mac and cheese in your fridge?”
“You can have anything you want,” I say, desperate to end this conversation.
“Okey-doke. Say hi to Will for me. Good luck with those puzzle pieces,” she says before hanging up.
Will raises an amused brow. “Crossword puzzle?”
“Since everyone in town knows that you don’t own a TV, I couldn’t very well tell her that we were watching a movie. It was the first thing off the top of my head.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but what’s Betty Jean doing at your place?”
“A man was murdered in her house. She was going to go to some fleabag motel for the night. I couldn’t let her be alone.”
“You’re a nice person, Lucy.”
“You would have done the same thing.”
“Not if it was Betty Jean Collins.”
I can’t help but grin. “Okay, back to your story. You confronted Jefferson Pike at the beach house. Then what?”
“I told him I was J.W. Quicksilver. It never occurred to him that the real J.W. would show up. At first, he didn’t believe me, but then I proved it to him.”
“How did you do that?”
“I pulled out my phone and showed him a couple of emails from my publisher.”
“I bet he laid an egg.”
“Pretty much.” Will gets quiet. “I asked him why of all the authors in the world he picked me for this scam. And you want to know what he said? He said it was because I’d made it so easy for him. By being anonymous I was practically begging for something like this to happen. He said I deserved it.”
“That must have made you mad.”
“Yeah.” He blows out a breath. “This is where the too-stupid-to-live part comes into play. I told him I was going straight to the police and there was nothing he could do to stop me.”
I moan. “You never tell the bad guy that you’re going to turn them in to the police. That’s like something straight out of a bad James Bond movie.”
“First off, there’s no such thing as a bad James Bond movie. And tell me about it. The next thing I knew, I was tied up in a closet with the worst hangover of my life.”
“How did you get out?”
“After a few hours, I was able to loosen the ropes. I thought about calling the police right away, but I called you instead.”
“Was there anyone else at the beach house? Did you see Archie or Anita?”
“Just Pike. If anyone else was there, they didn’t show themselves.”
None of this makes sense. I try to put myself in Jefferson Pike’s head. “Okay, so you go to see Pike, and you tell him the truth. So now he knows the jig’s up and he’s going to be exposed. He hits you over the head, ties you up and drags you into a closet. Why not skip town then? Why still go to Betty Jean’s house for the book club meeting and risk getting arrested?”
“Maybe he was still waiting to collect money from some of his victims? Maybe he thought I wouldn’t be able to escape? Who knows how this sociopath thinks?”
“He must have told Archie about you, because Archie told the cops that you killed Jefferson.”
Will drags a hand down his face. “What a mess. I wish I’d listened to you and exposed the guy last night at The Harbor House. Now he’s dead, and his partner is trying to pin the murder on me.”
“Except … I wonder if Archie knows who you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Jefferson Pike knows you as J.W. Quicksilver, but does he know that you’re Will Cunningham?”
Will thinks on it. “Now that you mention it, I never gave him my name. I just walked in guns blazing and told him I was the real J.W. Quicksilver.”
“You stood up at the reading to ask him a question.” I think back to last night. “I’m pretty sure Brittany introduced you as the town’s head librarian.”
“Maybe Pike didn’t remember that detail? There were a lot of people at The Harbor House last night.”
“Let’s assume for now that Pike just told Archie that the real J.W. is here in town, but he never told him your real name because he doesn’t know it. That would mean that Archie would have no idea who you were or how to find you.”
“You know what they say about assumptions, Lucy.”
“There’s an easy way to figure it out.”
“How?”
“If Archie Clements knows that Will Cunningham is the real J.W. Quicksilver and he’s told the cops that you’re a murderer, then I expect that someone from the Whispering Bay Police Department will be paying you a visit soon.”
We arrive at the ER, where Will is diagnosed with a mild concussion. Four hours later, he’s discharged with instructions to be monitored closely. I volunteer to spend what’s left of the night at his place to make sure that he’s okay.
We pull up to an empty house. “Well, at least the cops aren’t waiting on my doorstep to arrest me.”
“Or they just got tired and left and they’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“How about I beat them to the punch and go down to talk to them before they come to talk to me?”
“It’s the responsible thing to do,” I agree.
He turns in his seat to face me. “I know this is asking a lot, but will you come with me to the station? For moral support?”
“I’m your best friend. Of course, I’ll come with you.”
“Thanks, Lucy. You’re the best.”
I hesitate, because this is probably the worst possible time to drop this on him, but I have to know. “Why didn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you tell me that you were J.W. Quicksilver? You told Sebastian, but you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you, but it had nothing to do with trust, because I do trust you.” He looks at me oddly. “Honestly? I thought it was weird that you didn’t figure it out on your own. Lucy, do you know how many times I’ve lied to you about it?”
Bunches, I bet. Time for my own confession. “I’ve never caught you in a lie. Not until that night we kissed and I asked you outright if you were J.W. Quicksilver.”
“Never?” he asks incredulously.
“Never. I think it was because … you know, my feelings for you got in the way or something.”
“About those feelings—”
“Can we talk about this later? When we don’t have to worry about running from the law?”
“We’re going to run from the law?”
“If we have to.”
He grins.
“Let’s get in the hou
se and get some sleep. I’ll set my alarm to wake you up in an hour.”
He moans. “Do we really have to do that?”
“Doctor’s orders,” I say in a fake cheery voice.
I hunker down in Will’s guest room, exhausted but too wound up to sleep right away. Like I told Will, going to the police is the right thing to do. But despite the fact that he hasn’t done anything illegal, I can’t help but feel that J.W. Quicksilver is in a whole heap of trouble.
Chapter Twelve
I wake up feeling like something is wrong. A shaft of light streams through the window hitting me in the—light? I jump up from the bed and pull back the blinds. The sun is shining like it’s daytime. Getting up at four every morning to make the muffins means it’s always dark outside. I grab my cell phone. It’s seven in the morning!
Paco jumps on the bed and licks my face.
“Why didn’t you wake me up at the regular time?” I demand.
He makes a sorry face, but I can tell he doesn’t really mean it.
I immediately text Sarah. I can’t believe I overslept. I’m on my way!
After a few minutes, she texts back. No worries. We have everything under control. You just stay where you are. This is followed by a winking smiley face. Huh. That’s weird.
Oh no. I hope Betty Jean didn’t tell Sarah that Will and I were “putting together a puzzle” last night.
I slip on my sneakers, brush my teeth, and grab Paco’s leash. Will walks into the living room and yawns. “What time is it?” he asks, looking adorably sleepy.
“Better yet, what year is it?” I should probably check his pupils too.
“The year of owning up to being J.W. Quicksilver,” he shoots back.
“Good enough. I guess you’re not going to slip into a coma.”
He watches me dash around the living room trying to find my purse. “I thought we were going to the police station together this morning.”
I stop scrambling and turn to face him. “Yeah, about that … I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh no,” he mutters.
