by Maria Geraci
“Hear me out.”
“With no caffeine in my system? No, thanks.”
Excellent idea. I finish getting ready while Will makes the coffee. He hands me a mug and orders me to sit on the couch. “Okay, I’m ready now. Go.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird that the cops haven’t come by or called you yet? They’ve had Archie Clements in custody since last night. If he told Travis that you’re the real J.W. Quicksilver, Travis would have come here by now. Or, at the very least, called you.”
Will takes a long sip of his coffee. “I was thinking the same thing myself.”
“Let’s say you go down to the police station and tell everyone that you’re the real J.W. How long do you think before the rest of the world finds out?” Before Will can answer, I tell him. “Maybe a day or two at most. If you’re lucky.”
“I told you. I’m ready to let everyone know who I am.”
“Sure. If this was a book signing or a release party or some big article in People magazine, it would be great. But the first thing everyone is going to associate with your coming out is that you’re a suspect in a murder case. How do you think book sales are going to do?”
“Honestly? I’m just jaded enough to think that it probably won’t matter. It might even help sales. The world is a kooky place, Lucy.”
“True. But what about your reputation? You said you wanted to come out on your own terms. I don’t think this is what you meant by that.”
“Once the cops know I’ve got an alibi for the time of the murder, I’ll be off the hook. Remember I was knocked out and tied up in a closet?”
“Says you. Do you have any proof of that?”
“I’ve got a lump on my noggin.”
“That we told the doctor at the hospital came from a bowling ball that fell off a garage shelf and landed on your head. Which, by the way—quick thinking.” At the time at least. In retrospect, maybe we should have told the truth, but if we had, the cops would have gotten involved, and last night we weren’t ready for that. “You said there was no one else at the house when you got there. The only person who knows you were left in that closet is you and Jefferson Pike. And he isn’t talking. At least not without the help of The Sunshine Ghost Society and a seance.”
Will snorts, but I can see that I’m getting through to him. “So what now?” he asks. “Just sit back and let my name be dragged through the mud? If I don’t clear myself, then this Clements guy is going to keep telling everyone that J.W. Quicksilver killed Jefferson Pike.”
“Not if I find out who the real killer is.”
Paco barks happily.
“See, Paco agrees with me.”
“I don’t know, Lucy. This all seems a bit harebrained to me.”
“Last night you said you trusted me. Was that just lip service?”
His eyes flash angrily. “No.”
“Then trust me to find who killed Jefferson Pike. Then, when I find the real killer, you can let the world know who you are because you want to. Not because you’re being forced.”
I dash into the café’s kitchen. “I’m here!”
Jill looks up from the sink and grins at me. “Long night?”
Sarah, who’s manning the counter, pops her head through the pass-through window into the kitchen. “I told you there was no need to rush. We’re handling everything fine between the three of us.”
The three of us?
At the confused look on my face, Sarah nods toward the dining room. “Go take a look. She’s fabulous!”
I walk out to see Betty Jean serving table four near the window. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that says, JUST A MUFFIN LOOKING FOR HER STUD.
“Oh, my … ” Nothing else comes out of my mouth.
Betty Jean is wearing my T-shirt, strutting around the café and chitchatting with customers like it’s something she does every day.
“When I got here this morning, she’d already made the coffee,” says Sarah. “There’s no fresh muffins, but I offered the customers who complained half price off their orders, and everyone seemed happy enough.”
Betty Jean trots over. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” She looks me up and down. “Isn’t that the same thing you had on last night?”
Sarah tries not to laugh.
“Yes, but it’s not what you think,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster. “Thanks for helping out, but I’m here now. You can go upstairs and take a nap.”
“Why? I’m not tired.”
“You don’t mind staying?” Sarah asks Betty Jean. “Because I actually have something I need to do.”
“Go!” Betty Jean waves her off. “I’ve got this.”
She’s got this? What? Betty Jean has been working here all of two hours, and now she’s an expert. But if Sarah has something to do, I don’t want to be the one to keep her from it. It’s too busy this morning to run the café with just Jill and I, so I’m going to have to give in here and let Betty Jean stay.
“Okay,” I relent. “Thanks, Betty Jean. Just try your best.” I take my position behind the counter. Jill puts a completed order up on the pass-through. Betty Jean looks at the ticket, picks up the tray, and delivers it to the correct table. Then she goes around the room offering coffee refills.
“I told you,” Sarah says, following my stunned gaze. “Betty Jean is terrific. Maybe we should think about hiring her a few mornings a week.”
“Do you want to stay in business?”
“I admit, she can be salty sometimes, but I think the customers might actually like it. She’d add a dash of flavor, that’s for sure.”
“We’ll see.”
Sarah hesitates. “You know, Lucy, just because we’ve always done things one way doesn’t mean we can’t change it up every now and then. A successful business stays flexible so it can react to the market.”
Where have I heard this before? I place my brain on overtime, and then it comes to me. It’s the same exact thing Heidi said to me the other day. Weird.
“I heard about this Jefferson Pike person being found dead.” Sarah shudders. “The customers have been talking about it nonstop. Unbelievable, huh? How he was impersonating J.W. Quicksilver. Poor Betty Jean. I can’t imagine how traumatic this has been for her. It was nice of you to let her stay here last night. Speaking of which … what’s going on with you and Will?”
“Not what you think is going on. It’s a long story, and as soon as I can, I’ll tell you everything.”
Sarah makes a disappointed face. “I guess I’ll have to wait until then.” She pulls her purse from behind the counter. “You’re really okay with me leaving for the day?”
“How many times have you covered for me? Yes. Go. Have fun. Or whatever.”
The next hour goes by quickly. I try to concentrate on taking orders, all the while thinking of how I’m going to find Jefferson Pike’s murderer, when Anita Tremble walks into the café. Paco sits up at attention.
“I thought you were in jail,” I say.
“I’m not the one who takes photos they’re not supposed to.”
Oh? She wants attitude. I’ll give her attitude. “How does it feel to know that you’re responsible for milking innocent people out of their hard-earned money?”
Her face falls. “I won’t pretend I’m innocent. I knew about the scam. But this was my first time. That’s why I’m out on bail.”
At least she doesn’t have the gall to lie to me about it. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Trying to get breakfast. I spent the night in jail, and I’m hungry.” She still has that mousy look about her, but in the clear daylight, I notice how young she is. Pretty, too.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-five.”
“Look, it’s none of my business what you do with your life, but if this really was your first sting operation, maybe you can turn things around.”
“My attorney says that since I don’t have a record and that my involvement was m
inimal, I might get off with probation. But Archie won’t be that lucky.” Her voice goes shaky with emotion. “The FBI is coming to town to question him about a bunch of stuff he and Jefferson were into. He’s not a bad person. Not really. He just got involved with the wrong man.”
“Jefferson Pike.”
Anita nods. “He was bad news. I see that now.”
It occurs to me that Anita could be a terrific source of information. I need to find out exactly what she knows. There’s no one in line behind her, and Betty Jean does seem to have the swing of things. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. Can I buy you breakfast?”
She perks up. “Really? That’s so sweet of you.” She orders a breakfast sandwich and a coffee, and I throw in a banana walnut muffin on the side.
I hand her the coffee and pour one of my own. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Sure, why not?”
Betty Jean is busy refilling napkin holders. I tap her on the shoulder. “I know I just got here, but I need to take a break. Do you think you can handle the counter for a few minutes?”
“Put the order in the computer, let Jill cook it up, then serve it. Piece of cake.”
“Sarah showed you how to use the computer?”
“Why is it you millennials think you’re the only ones who can do technology? Of course I can use the computer.”
“Okay, thanks. Holler if you need me.” I bend down to whisper to Paco, “Stay here and keep an eye on her.” He wags his tail.
Under Paco’s direction, I leave Betty Jean to “do” technology and follow Anita to the dining area.
Even though there are empty tables near the window that faces the gulf, she gravitates to the back of the café. Poor kid. She probably doesn’t want anyone to notice her. Not that I blame her. This is a small town. Who knows how many people Jefferson Pike swindled? If I were her, I’d want to get out of Whispering Bay as fast as I could.
I wait till she’s had a sip of her coffee before saying, “You know that Archie is claiming that the real J.W. Quicksilver is the one who killed Jefferson?”
“Talk about ironic,” she says.
“I know,” I say, playing along to get her trust. “Completely crazy! How did it happen? I mean, did he just show up and say, ‘I’m the real J.W. Quicksilver’ or what?”
“Not exactly.” She wiggles around in her seat. “Look, Lucy, you seem like a nice person, but I’m not sure how much I should tell you. My attorney said I needed to be discreet.”
“Oh, I can be discreet. I’m just trying to wrap my head around what happened. The whole town is. If we could only understand how this all went down.” I sigh dramatically. “That Jefferson Pike, he was a real charmer, wasn’t he? I bet he wasn’t even Scottish.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
I knew it!
“How did you get involved with him?”
“Archie. He and I became … friends. Jefferson and Archie have been partners for, like, ten years. They’d been running real estate scams all along the east coast and were making their way down to Key West, but Jefferson was always on the lookout for a quick buck. When he ran into Betty Jean Collins on an online reader board asking if anyone could get in touch with J.W. Quicksilver, it was too good for him to pass up. Jefferson is, I mean … was a huge fan of his books and he thought it would be cool to impersonate his idol. They needed a third person, so they reached out to me to help with the con.”
“And you’ve never done anything like this before?”
Her eyes get teary. “Never. I know I shouldn’t have gotten involved, but once I met Jefferson, it was hard to say no to him. I lost my job a few months ago, and he made it sound so easy. The plan was to stay in town a couple of days, then split the money. Archie and Jefferson would go on to Key West, and I’d go back to Jersey. That’s where I’m from.”
The hair on my neck tingles. I’ve just caught Anita in a lie. Only I’m not sure which part of what she’s just said to me isn’t true. Or maybe the whole thing isn’t true. Ack. This is where things can get muddy. I need to keep my questions simple.
“So did you actually see the real J.W. Quicksilver?”
“No. Archie and I were out collecting money. When we got back to the beach house, Jefferson told us that the real J.W. Quicksilver was in town and that he was going to expose us to the police.”
“You must have been terrified.”
“Oh! I was. So was Archie. We’d … I’m ashamed to admit this, but we’d gotten almost thirty thousand in cash on the swindle already. It was more than enough for me and Archie. We wanted to cut our losses and leave town before the real J.W. Quicksilver could get to the cops.”
“But it wasn’t enough money for Jefferson, was it?”
“The money was never an issue. It was the game. Jefferson really got his kicks playing the famous author. It was his ego that got him killed.”
There’s anger in her voice. I think back to the night of the reading and I get it. The smug confidence, the Scottish accent, not to mention that ridiculous kilt of his. Jefferson Pike’s ego must have been bigger than the Grand Canyon.
“I’m still confused. If the real J.W. Quicksilver was in town and he was going to the cops, what made Jefferson think he could still attend the book club meeting without getting caught?”
Anita glances around the table, then lowers her voice. “Jefferson told Archie that he hit J.W. Quicksilver over the head with a marble bookend. Then he tied him up and left him in a closet. I guess he thought he wouldn’t be able to escape. But I swear, I didn’t know about that until my lawyer told me last night. Archie was trying to protect me, so he kept that from me.”
“So, did Archie see the real J.W. Quicksilver? Does he know who he is?” I hold my breath, waiting for her to answer.
“I don’t know. Like I said, he didn’t tell me any of that. Archie and Jefferson were the real team. I was just brought in to play a part for show. Archie tried to keep the details from me. In case we got caught. And now my attorney says I can’t see Archie.” She looks down at her plate. “I wish I knew how he was holding up. He’s not a bad man. Not like Jefferson.”
Everything Anita has just said is true. But I’m picking up on a lot of emotion here. Could Archie and Anita be involved? He’s old enough to be her father, but it wouldn’t be the world’s first May-December romance.
I glance over to the counter, where a small line is forming. Betty Jean seems to have gotten the swing of things, but I should probably help her. I turn back to face Anita. She’s gazing at Betty Jean with fury.
“What’s that woman doing here?” she demands.
“Who? Betty Jean? She stayed here last night. Why, what’s wrong?”
Anita shakes herself back in control. “I know it’s irrational to blame her. But if she hadn’t reached out on that message board trying to find J.W. Quicksilver, Jefferson would have never had the idea to come here and play this con.”
Talk about blaming the victim.
“Sorry. She must be your friend, huh? I didn’t mean to overreact. It’s been a rough twenty-four hours.”
“What happens now?” I ask.
“They kicked me out of the beach house, so I’m in a cheap hotel until they figure out what to do with me. My lawyer says I can’t leave town until the police and FBI say I can.”
“Well, good luck. I better get back to work.”
“Thanks. You’ve been real sweet to listen to me.” On her way out the door, she turns to wave goodbye.
So that didn’t provide much in the way of information.
It looks like the only person who can give me the answers that are going to help Will is Archie Clements. And he’s sitting in the Whispering Bay jail waiting for the feds to come get him. Somehow, I need to find a way to get to him first.
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve had a few hours to think of a plan to get me inside the jail to talk to Archie Clements, but it’s going to depend on a massive dose of luck. Hopefully, the sleuthing god
s are with me today.
After the last customer leaves, I lock up. Since it’s Jill’s day to do final cleanup, I run upstairs to take a quick shower before heading down to the police station. Betty Jean follows me into the apartment.
“That went well, don’t you think?”
“Actually, yeah. It did. Thanks, Betty Jean. You’re a real lifesaver.”
Her gaze follows me as I grab a clean set of clothes from my dresser. “Who would have thought you and I would be the same size?”
Yeah. About that. It’s kind of creepy that she went through my stuff to get my T-shirt. But on the other hand, she was such a trooper about chipping in to help that I really can’t complain.
“The same size on top, I mean. All your jeans are way too big for me in the butt. You know, there’s exercises you can do to get rid of that. I still have an old Jane Fonda workout tape if you want to borrow it. Go for the burn!”
I honestly have no idea what to say to that.
“Of course, some men really like that extra junk in the trunk. Looks like you’ve found two of them. Well done! I didn’t think you had it in you, but—”
“Betty Jean, do you mind? I’d rather not talk about my love life.”
“Whatever you say. But if you ever want some man advice, I’m your girl. I managed to get four of ’em to the altar, you know.”
And get divorced four times too. I wisely keep that statistic to myself.
“I was thinking,” says Betty Jean. “The cops said I could go back to my house today, but I know you hate to be here all alone.”
“No worries,” I say quickly. “You’ve done enough already. I can manage.”
“But why should you when I can stay longer? Besides, I got ripped off last night. I thought we were going to drink margaritas and give each other mani-pedis. Instead you spent the night with Will Cunningham.” She tsks. “I never thought you were the type to choose bros over hoes.”
I blink hard. “I think you’ve got that expression wrong.”
“No, I don’t. It means you picked a man over one of your girlfriends.”
“No, it means … oh, never mind. Sure, you can spend the night again.”
