"Crush the bag and hold it," Jennifer directed. "It gives off heat."
"It's not more than four inches square. I have a whole body here that's clamoring for some warmth. Just where am I supposed to put it? My toes are a just a fond memory."
Remind Teri of a little physical discomfort, and everything else flew right out of her mind.
Teri stuffed the warmer inside her mitten, against her palm and let out a sigh. "You know Monique is not going to be pleased that we didn't wait for the meeting tonight before staking out the graveyard."
"Yeah, well, she'll just have to deal."
Teri shook her head. "You are either getting more independent with each breath you take or you're just plumb crazy. By the way, April brought an uncorrected proof of The Case of the Missing Nuts to group Monday night. She showed it to us after you and Sam left."
Jennifer blinked hard, staring straight ahead. "A book? A solid, not-on-eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-paper book?" It was hard to imagine.
"Yep. It will hit the shelves of the children's section in less than two months.
"It has a terrific cover with the title in huge letters and just below it April's name," Teri went on. "It's done in autumn colors. Barney, the flying squirrel, is depicted in full flight, the membranes between his little paws stretched tight. Personally, I thought he looked like a kite, especially with young Billy standing down below him. Just add a string—"
Jennifer shot her a sideways glance.
"No, really, it's great. Squirrels just aren't my thing. Billy's all round and cute. He's under a huge oak tree with piles of acorns and leaves everywhere."
"I wish I'd seen it."
"You will. She gave us each a copy. All of our names are in the acknowledgments. And you know the really weird part? When you read it bound like that, all professional, it's ten times better than it was when she was reading it to us in group. Somebody might actually go into a store and say, 'Wow, this looks like a great book for my kid.'"
"That's the whole idea."
"Right, but—"
Jennifer shushed her. She was certain she'd heard something, like the crunch of rubber on gravel. The pink glow from the sun suddenly burst outward, lightening the whole area. A bright blue compact hatchback stopped on the road just above the grave, and Jennifer laid a death grip on Teri's arm. The driver's side door opened and a figure emerged wearing a waist-length, light-colored coat that caught the light. Something was wrapped tightly around the person's head. Quickly the figure was at the grave, kneeling.
"C'mon." Jennifer pulled Teri forward.
"We could just get the license plate, you know," Teri suggested. "You don't think she's armed, do you?"
"Why would she be? Everybody here is already dead."
They circled around and came up behind the woman, careful to make as little noise as possible. They could hear her mumbling between sobs.
Jennifer touched her shoulder, and the woman promptly let out a bloodcurdling scream. Teri screamed, too.
The woman turned and clutched her chest. "You scared me half to death."
"I'm sorry, really sorry," Jennifer apologized, backing up. "We heard you crying and I thought maybe we could help."
The sun was up enough now that Jennifer could see the woman's tear-stained face, her eyeliner running. She clutched a single long-stemmed red rose in her gloved hand.
"Kelli? Kelli Byers? Suzanne's maid of honor? You're the one who's been leaving the roses?" Jennifer asked.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Kelli demanded. Quickly, she wiped her face. She placed the rose on the grave, said something under her breath, and scrambled to her feet.
"You and Richard Hovey..." Jennifer began, for once, at a loss for words.
"No." Kelli stamped her feet. "What do you mean? That's sick!"
"Hey, lady, you're the one leaving the roses on the man's grave," Teri pointed out.
"This is where Suzanne died," Kelli explained. "She doesn't have a grave for me to mourn at yet. Look, I've got to go." She turned and headed back toward her car.
"I'm sorry we scared you," Jennifer called after her.
As soon as Kelli was in her car, Teri turned to Jennifer and said, "So that was the woman who called the police on you at Suzanne's? She's a piece of work."
"The very one. So what do you think?"
"I think Richard Hovey was doin' his fiancée's maid of honor."
Chapter 16
"You called Ruth Hovey and you asked her what?" Teri demanded. "Can't I even let you go to the bathroom by yourself without getting into trouble?"
Jennifer pulled her little car out of the parking lot of the Bob Evans' Restaurant. They had been fed—pancakes for Jennifer and sausage gravy over biscuits for Teri—and pumped full of coffee.
"I asked her if she knows who Richard Hovey was waiting for the night he died," Jennifer repeated, heading east.
"I bet that ticked her off. What did she say?"
"I didn't mean to upset her. She said she wants to meet with me right away. Then she hung up."
"Do you suppose she knows about the rose petals?"
"Of course she knows. She probably had to arrange to have the house cleaned after his death. I'm sure his children are his heirs."
"And that one little question was enough to get her to agree to see you?"
Jennifer braked at a stop sign and shot Teri a sidelong glance. Then she turned left and headed out of town. "If she doesn't know the answer, I'm sure she's curious as hell."
"And thinks you do know. But you don't. You only suspect it was Suzanne. But what if it was Kelli? Or some other woman? What if it was her? What are you going to say when she asks you?"
"What I always do?"
"Right. You're going to wing it. And get yourself into even more trouble."
Teri pointed at a sign reading HOVEY'S HERMITAGE, and Jennifer headed the little car up the long driveway.
"Hermitage does not have a friendly connotation," Teri pointed out.
"Right, but we're here at Ruth's invitation, remember?" She parked on the side of the huge white house with dark green shutters. She had barely pulled on the parking break when a large man, who seemed to come out of nowhere, rapped on her window. Both Jennifer and Teri jumped.
"What do you want?" he asked. Two-hundred pounds easy. Maybe closer to three. And not a hair or a hat on his shaved head.
She rolled down the glass. "Jennifer Marsh. Mrs. Hovey is expecting me."
The man took in her VW Bug and grunted, a bit like a disgruntled watchdog. The two women opened their doors and got out, but the man shook his head at Teri. "Only Marsh. Miz Hovey didn't say nothin' to me about nobody else."
Teri nodded at Jennifer. "That's okay. You go ahead. I'll be just fine. Out here in the cold. With more company than I've ever wanted."
The man pointed toward the front of the house, and Jennifer followed a slate footpath around to a large, covered porch and an imposing, solid wood door with narrow, curtained windows running up and down each side of it. She pulled off her hat, stuffed it in her pocket, and quickly fluffed her hair. Then she rang the doorbell.
The curtains fluttered and then a woman with dark hair twisted into a bun opened the door. She appeared to be in her early forties and was dressed in an expensive angora turtleneck sweater and wool slacks. She bordered on plump, and the snug fit of her slacks made Jennifer suspect she was a yo-yo dieter.
"Miss Marsh. Won't you come in?"
A person can tell a lot about how someone has been brought up by her voice. This woman had class—genteel Southern class. Moneyed Southern class. And she knew exactly how to maintain politeness and show utter contempt at the same time. She even had coffee waiting in a living room, which was decorated in a hunting motif and filled with antiques. Over a gas fireplace hung a huge portrait of an older man with a mustache, wearing a suit with a vest and holding a pocket watch. Grandpa Loudermilk, Jennifer presumed.
Mrs. Hovey took Jennifer's coat, handed it to a servant,
and then showed her to a sofa right out of the Ethan Allen catalogue. She offered to pour from the coffee service, but Jennifer shook her head.
"Fine. I like a woman who gets down to business. I believe you have some information for me," Ruth said, settling on the edge of the opposite love seat.
This was going to be more difficult than Jennifer had thought. This woman was stone hard under that delicate veneer. "Your husband, Richard Hovey... the night he died... he was waiting for someone..."
Jennifer watched Ruth's gaze take in every crease of her jeans and sweatshirt, every bit of grime on her hiking boots. She really should have gone home and dressed before she'd come. And done something about the hat hair that Teri had mentioned.
"Just what is it you're trying to say?" Ruth hadn't carried her age as well as her husband, and Jennifer knew immediately why her marriage had failed. Her own mother had told her more than once, "Never marry a man who's more attractive than you are. You'll never have a moment's peace. Women will always be hitting on him when you're out together, and you'll always wonder where he is when he's not with you." Good advice for the insecure. And good advice for Ruth Hovey. She looked as though she'd never had a moment's peace.
And Jennifer was about to disturb what little peace she may have found since Richard's death. She took a deep breath. "There were rose petals, burning candles, and a bottle of wine in Richard's bedroom the night he died. He was waiting for a woman. Mrs. Hovey—"
"How much?" she asked, her eyes rock hard, picking up a pen and checkbook off an end table.
Jennifer squinted at her. "How much what?"
Ruth stared at her with scorn. "We can do this easily or not, but I will not play games. I know that my husband could be a bottom feeder. He liked trash on occasion, but not as a steady diet. Whatever relationship you had with him—"
"Me?" Jennifer blushed as it struck her. Of course. Ruth sincerely believed Richard had not been waiting for Suzanne the night he died. Indeed, she thought Jennifer was that woman, the one he had strewn rose petals for, and that she was there to blackmail her into keeping the relationship quiet, no doubt so their children wouldn't find out their father had set a seduction scene the night he died.
"No. I never. I didn't even know Richard, Mr. Hovey, I mean. I never met him, never ever."
"You look like his type. Not too short. Young. Fairly attractive. You look like you'd clean up well. Too thin." The last two words came out with an inordinate amount of disdain.
She noted that Suzanne Gray did not fit that description.
But Kelli Byers did. More or less.
"You must be wondering how I know about the rose petals. I have contacts with the press. I can certainly understand your wanting to keep what happened quiet. I do, too."
"Which brings us back to how much it will take to insure your silence."
"No, no. I really do just want to know who Richard—" Darn! "—Mr. Hovey expected that night."
"And you think I know." She laughed.
"I thought you might at least have a guess."
"And what business is it of yours?"
"Mrs. Hovey, I'm working with Sam Culpepper."
"I know Mr. Culpepper. He's writing a book about Richard."
"Yes. I'm helping him with it. It seems that your husband's death or at least that of Suzanne Gray—"
"Don't mention that woman's name in this house." Ruth drew herself up. It was a challenge, one that Jennifer didn't dare take. "You should understand, Miss Marsh, that whatever sideshow Ms. Gray was putting on for the public had nothing whatsoever to do with my husband."
"I do understand that you believe that."
"It's not a matter of belief. It's a matter of fact. Do we understand one another?"
That Ruth Hovey was used to seeing to it that "fact" was what she said it was? Oh, yes. Jennifer understood perfectly.
"But if you truly believe it wasn't... that woman... who Richard was waiting for, you must have some guess who he was meeting that night."
"I don't. The only thing I'm certain of is that he wasn't waiting for Suzanne Gray."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Did you ever see Suzanne?"
"No, but—"
"She wasn't his type. Young women were always flocking around Richard. Put a man on TV or in the newspaper and women just can't resist him it seems. Young beautiful women."
"But they were engaged."
Ruth's eyes narrowed. The steel was back. She called out "Emily," and a woman in uniform appeared. "Would you please ask Burt to come in and show Miss Marsh out."
Jennifer was immediately on her feet. She was all too certain who Burt was. "That's quite all right. I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean to offend you."
Mrs. Hovey opened her mouth to speak to Emily again, but Jennifer rushed on. "I'm leaving. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Hovey."
She'd probably just blown any chance of Ruth's cooperation with Sam. And he was going to kill her. But not before he made her very sorry.
Jennifer grabbed her coat and was out the door and down the front steps before Ruth had a chance to tell her again.
So that's where the belligerence came from. Ruth could accept losing Richard to a younger woman, but not to someone like Suzanne Gray, a woman close to her own age who was a good size twelve. Not to someone so like Ruth herself.
And she'd found out one very important piece of information: whoever Richard was expecting that night, it wasn't Ruth.
She scooted around to the side of the house. Teri was sitting on the driver's side of Jennifer's Bug, the motor running, Burt leaning against the door, talking to her through the window.
Jennifer slipped into the passenger seat.
"Nice to meet you. Gotta go," Teri said. The car groaned as Teri threw the transmission into reverse and then backed up. She scraped the gear back into first.
"Geez. You're tearing my transmission apart. Since when did you drive a stick shift?" Jennifer asked.
"Since never."
"That second pedal down there is what's called a clutch. Push it in when you change gears."
The car lurched forward and the engine almost died.
"The clutch!" Jennifer hollered.
"Where's second?"
"Down and to your left."
Teri dragged the stick shift into gear and somehow got the little car going. It took off forward.
"It would be easier if you'd just let me drive."
"It would have been easier if you hadn't left me with Burt. He's a bad man."
At the end of the drive, Jennifer popped her door open and ordered Teri out. Instead, she climbed across the gear shift and the parking break. Jennifer dashed around the car and slid under the wheel, and they took off down the main road as fast as flooring the gas pedal would allow.
"What do you mean he's a bad man?"
"He killed a guy. At least one. Hovey got him off."
"So what's he doing working for Ruth?"
"Hovey told him to. She needed someone, and, as best as I can tell, he's reliable."
"Only..."
"He moonlights. And I think he likes me." Teri's eyes grew huge. "He told me if I ever needed a job done, just let him know."
"What kind of job?"
"I didn't even want to ask."
Chapter 17
So where was he? Jennifer drummed her fingers against the tabletop and looked at her watch. Twelve-fifteen. She'd practically broken her neck to get to the restaurant on time and Sam was nowhere to be seen. She'd already been stood up by that man once this week and it was only Tuesday. The little storefront Bookstore Café was only a couple of blocks up from the Telegraph offices. He had no possible excuse.
Unless Belle had pulled something else. She'd like to bell that Belle, so she could keep track of her. She was turning Jennifer into a paranoid shrew, and Jennifer knew better than to let her do it. Of course Mrs. Walker and her Men are weak, dear wasn't helping either.
She fluffed at her hair. A good brushing ha
d done little to help it, not with the static electricity in the air. At least she was dressed in something decent, gray slacks and a baby blue chenille turtleneck, a great improvement over the sweatshirt that Ruth Hovey had seen her in.
She took a sip of water for the fifteenth time and glanced toward the windows flanking the door. Between the checkered café curtains and the posters advertising poetry readings taped all over the inside of the windows, she could barely see the sunlight outside.
She didn't know why she was so anxious for Sam to get there. She wasn't looking forward to explaining to him what had happened at Ruth Hovey's. But he would simply have to understand that she'd only been trying to help. She replayed in her head what she planned to say to him. It was kind of a good news/bad news kind of thing. I found out for sure that Ruth Hovey was not the woman Richard was expecting the night he died, but she'll probably never speak to either one of us again. That would not go over well. How about, Guess what? Ruth Hovey has this goon working for her but he only scared Teri.... No. He wouldn't like that one either.
The door jingled. It was Sam. He looked harried. And not one bit happy. His gaze darted around the little place and then settled on her, back in the classic mystery section. She waved, trying to look relaxed. He came toward her, pulled off his coat, and dumped it in the spare chair at the table.
"He's definitely in Macon," Sam said.
"No, Sam. You mean DeSoto?"
He nodded.
"You think he's the one who trashed Belle's apartment."
"Yep."
"And that he's still looking for her?"
"I know he is. He was at the Atlanta Eye offices asking about her yesterday morning."
"You're kidding." A chill shot through her. Maybe Belle actually was in danger. Which meant Sam might be, too.
"He wasn't at all pleased when he was told she hadn't been in to work yesterday."
Dying to Get Her Man Page 10
