I glared at him.
He grinned at me. “And you are so freaking loosey-goosey. Let’s go sit down and talk.” He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away.
“We’ve been sitting and talking. At least, I’ve been talking, telling you everything I know, practically solving your case for you, and all you do is tell me to give Henry more catnip.”
“Look, I think you may have some valid points, but I’m going to have to do a little investigating before I haul anybody off to jail. Unlike you and Fred, I have to follow the rules.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know. It’s always about the rules. Don’t you ever want to just go wild and break the rules?”
He grinned and gave me a sizzling head-to-toe look, the green in his brown eyes flaring. “Yeah, sometimes I do want to go wild and break the rules.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
“Let’s go sit in the living room and break some rules.”
“Really?” It was all I could think of to say. I’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. However, even though Trent wasn’t the romantic type, I’d expected it to be a little more romantic than an invitation to sit in the living room and break rules.
“Yeah,” he said. “Get some chocolate, and while we have dessert I’ll tell you something official about this case that I really shouldn’t tell you.”
“Oh.” I was glad he was going to tell me something official. I was glad this wasn’t going to be the not-very-romantic culmination I’d first thought. Well, I was half-way glad.
Chapter Eighteen
I let Trent take my hand and lead me to the living room. Henry followed our every step. He was no longer a free, independent creature. He was in prison as surely as George Murray was in prison.
Trent and I sat on the sofa while Henry strode to the front door and stretched up, making his increasingly familiar attempt to open the door. He meowed a couple of times to be sure we saw him. Like anybody would fail to notice a large white cat stretched over three feet from his rump to his front paws, desperately trying to get a grip on my cut glass door knob with those huge paws.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said. “Soon, I promise.”
“You never call me sweetie,” Trent observed.
I leaned close to him. “Henry doesn’t keep secrets from me. Tell me all your secrets, and maybe I’ll call you sweetie.”
He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “We’ll soon see. I should not be telling you this, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t repeat any of it to Fred.”
I said nothing, my mind completely occupied with figuring out how I’d get around that admonition and pass the information along to Fred without actually breaking Trent’s trust.
He sighed. “Oh, never mind. Just don’t tell anybody else except Fred, okay?”
Damn. That meant Fred would have to tell Paula. “Okay,” I agreed.
“I’m only telling you this because it links to what you’ve already deduced.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I absolve you of all guilt, blah, blah, blah. So tell me!”
“Diane Hartman says she’s innocent of Bradford’s murder. Of course, they all say that. But Diane claims she and Bradford never really broke up, that his marriage to Lisa was part of a scam to get hold of a large amount of money. She doesn’t know the details. He just told her there was nothing between Lisa and him, that he only married her because she insisted on it as a part of the deal, and as soon as they got the money, he’d take all of it, dump her, and he and Diane would move to Mexico.”
I leaned back on the sofa, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. “Wow. Everybody’s betraying everybody.”
“That happens when a lot of money and a lot of dishonest people are involved.”
Henry leapt gracefully onto the sofa and lay down beside me. I stroked him from head to tail. He growled for a moment, but soon settled into purring. I’d have to remember that technique for possible use on Trent when he growled at me next time.
“Pretty much confirms that Lisa and Rick killed Bradford,” I said, still having a little difficulty wrapping my mind around the picture of Rick the Murderer. “Besides the element of greed, they could have found out about Diane and what Bradford planned to do.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Especially after what you told me, I believe Diane didn’t kill Bradford, but I’m a little concerned about releasing her. What if your ex-husband and his new girlfriend decide she’s a threat, that maybe she knows too much? They’re on a roll. They’ve killed Bradford, they’ve broken into your house and now they tried to burn down your restaurant.”
“So you believe me about the restaurant, that it was no accident?”
He wrapped both arms around me. I set my feet back on the floor so I could get closer. “Of course I believe you,” he said. “And now I’m even more worried about you.”
I pulled away and looked at him. “Are we going to start that sleeping on the couch business again? Cause I got to tell you, I’m not in favor of that idea. Death by Chocolate is closed for the next few days, I don’t have to get up early, and I can spend the entire night stomping up and down the stairs, playing loud music and keeping you awake.”
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. So I’ll leave you here alone, and if you wake up dead tomorrow, we’ll never have the chance to make love.”
He did have a point.
“I’ll sleep with my iron skillet and two knives on my nightstand, and I’ll put chairs under the knobs on the front and back doors and my bedroom door. If anybody tries to break in, I’ll hear them and call you immediately.”
“Call Fred first. He’s closer.”
“My first call will be to Fred.” Right after I used the iron skillet to bludgeon Rick.
I finally persuaded Trent to leave. Who knew I’d ever be trying to get a hot guy to leave instead of spending the night? Just goes to show, you never know. But I couldn’t wait to get Trent out of there so I could call Fred.
“This time,” I said as soon as he answered, “I’m the one with new information.”
“You badgered Trent until he finally told you about Diane and Bradford’s scheme to cut Lisa out of the money?”
Damn! “Do you have my house bugged?”
“Why would I do that?”
Of course I wasn’t going to get a simple yes or no out of him.
“I think we should go back to visit the Murrays, the ones that aren’t in prison,” I said. “See if they know anything about their grandson’s love life.”
“Precisely what I was thinking.”
“Were not.”
“Was too. I’ll call them tomorrow.” He hung up.
I did actually bar all the doors with chairs before I went to bed, and it felt really creepy to be doing that in order to keep my almost-ex-husband from breaking in to slit my throat.
***
The senior Murrays were thrilled we were coming for another visit. I felt a little guilty since we were only going over to grill them about their grandson, but Fred assured me they knew that and were happy we were coming anyway. So I made a Triple Chocolate Cake, and we returned to Summerdale Retirement Village at a few minutes after three the following afternoon. That gave Harold time to finish his round of golf.
Cathy and Harold met us at the door. “Come in,” she said, holding the door wide and offering an even wider smile. “We’re delighted you all came back to see us again.”
We entered, and I handed her the covered cake plate. “It’s chocolate,” I said.
She took it and laughed, the sound clear and pure like tiny bells. “Of course it is. Oh, my goodness, it weighs a ton! This must be really rich.” Then she sobered. “I heard about your restaurant fire on the news. Have a seat, and I’ll get some drinks. Coffee and Coke, right?”
“Right.”
She set the cake on the coffee table and headed for the kitchen.
Harold took his seat in the same chair as before, and Fred and I sat
on the sofa. “Cathy loves to entertain,” Harold said, “especially young people. Some of these folks around here are a lot older than they ought to be, if you know what I mean.”
“Harold,” Cathy called from the kitchen, “can you come help me?”
Harold rose. “Excuse me. Can’t say no to my lady.” He winked and left the room.
I looked at Fred. “Must be a really big cup of coffee.”
Harold returned, staggering slightly under the weight of a large tray holding a silver coffee pot, three cups, a platter of snacks, four small plates, silverware, and a can of Coke. He set the tray on the coffee table and resumed his seat.
“We didn’t expect all this,” I protested.
“Of course you didn’t,” Cathy said. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if you’d expected it. I thought we’d have a little afternoon tea without the tea. Your cake will be a perfect addition.” She lifted the top to expose the tall, dark cake dusted with powdered sugar. “Oh, my, that looks good!” She took a knife from the tray and sliced four generous pieces.
I looked at Fred helplessly.
He smiled at Mrs. Murray. “What a wonderful surprise. It looks delicious.” He took a plate and helped himself to some of everything.
I followed suit, and Cathy poured three cups of coffee.
Fred bit into a stuffed mushroom. “This is delicious. Do I detect a hint of tarragon?”
Cathy beamed. “Why, yes, you do! That’s my own special recipe, but I’ll be happy to share.”
“Thank you. I’ll take you up on that offer.”
My cell phone began to play George Strait’s Blue Clear Sky, Trent’s ring tone. I flinched. “Sorry. I didn’t think about turning it off. Nobody ever calls this time of day. I’m usually at work.”
“Go right ahead and take your call,” Cathy said. “We don’t stand on formalities here.”
“I can return the call later.”
We ate and drank and talked and laughed, and I forgot our reason for being there until Fred brought it up.
He set his empty plate on the tray, refreshed his cup of coffee and sat back. “We visited your grandson yesterday.”
Cathy smiled wistfully. “That was nice of you. He doesn’t get many visitors, mostly just Harold and me.”
“I’m not sure he enjoyed our visit,” I said. “When I mentioned that Lisa Whelan might be moving into your old house, he got a little upset. Was she his girlfriend?”
Cathy set her cup on the coffee table and looked at her husband. “Was that her name, that exotic dancer he had in the car that night?”
Harold’s brow furrowed in thought. “I think so.” He turned his gaze to Fred and me. “He never talked much about the women he dated, never brought them over to meet us. He was pretty secretive about that part of his life.”
“He was secretive about most parts of his life,” Cathy said.
Harold nodded. “The only time we ever saw him with a woman was one evening when he stopped by to borrow some money. There was a blond woman with him. He came to the door but she just stood out by the car.”
“We asked him to bring her inside,” Cathy said. “It was about this time of year and hot. We said we’d love to meet her. We wouldn’t have criticized. We’d have accepted anyone he cared about, but he refused. I’m pretty sure he called her Lisa.”
“Was she blonde?” Fred asked.
“Yes,” Cathy said. “I don’t believe it was her natural hair color, though. She looked like those movie stars that were so popular when I was young.”
“Marilyn Monroe?”
“Yes. Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, those women.”
“Pretty girl,” Harold added.
Cathy nodded. “She was pretty.”
“Did she have…” I hesitated, not sure how to phrase my inquiry and not sound crude.
“Was she amply endowed?” Fred asked.
“Yes.” Harold blushed and slid his gaze to his wife.
Cathy laughed and patted his hand. “You can look all you want as long as you don’t touch.”
He grinned sheepishly.
“George never mentioned any other women?” Fred asked.
Harold and Cathy both shook their heads.
“How about since he’s been in prison? Has he mentioned a woman whose first name begins with K?” Fred asked.
Cathy shook her head again. “We do most of the talking when we visit him. He seems very unhappy, but who wouldn’t be unhappy in a terrible place like that?”
“I’ve been talking to him about learning a legitimate trade when he gets out,” Harold said. “Told him we’d help him if he wanted to go back to school. He’s young enough, he could start a new life.” He sighed. “He doesn’t seem very interested in that idea.”
Cathy patted his hand. “But you never know when something you say is going to make a difference. He may seem disinterested, but he hears everything you tell him, and one day it will all come back to him and influence the way he lives the rest of his life. Most important thing, he knows we love him and we’re here for him.”
We chatted and drank for a while longer. Trent called again and I ignored him again. It wasn’t like him to call two times in a row like that. Usually he’d leave a message and wait for me to call him back. But it would be rude to take a phone call during a visit.
Fred got Cathy’s recipe for stuffed mushrooms, and finally we headed out the door.
“I hope you’ll come back to visit again.” Cathy gave both of us a hug. “We’d love to have you over for dinner.”
“I grill a mean steak,” Harold said.
“That would be great. We’d love to come, but only if you’ll come to my house—your old house—for dinner.” The words that came out of my mouth surprised me since I didn’t know I was going to say them until I did, but I realized I meant them. I liked the Murrays and would enjoy seeing them again. “I make a mean chocolate chip cookie.”
Cathy smiled. “I have a feeling anything you make will taste wonderful.”
Fred shook Harold’s hand. “Her coffee’s terrible.”
“But Fred makes great coffee. Between the two of us, we’ll put it together.”
Cathy put an arm around her husband’s waist. “We’d love to see our home again.”
“Then it’s a done deal,” I said. “How about this Saturday? With my restaurant closed, I’ll have plenty of time to cook. I might even clean.”
Harold laughed. “Don’t go to too much trouble. We want to recognize the old place.”
“Harold!” Cathy gave him a mock glare.
I entertained a fleeting thought that perhaps Trent and I would be like them one day.
Nah. My glare would be real.
“Seven on Saturday,” I confirmed. “And the guy I’m sort of seeing will probably be there too.”
“Looking forward to it,” Cathy said.
As we drove away, my phone rang again. Trent, for the third time. I decided to answer.
“Hello?”
“Lisa’s been murdered. Her trailer was burned to the ground with her in it, and Rick was seen leaving there shortly before the fire. I’ve brought him in for questioning.”
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as we got home, I opened the door and let Henry run. He darted out onto the front porch but then turned back and looked at me as if not quite sure he was really going to be allowed to do this.
“Go on,” I said. “Lisa’s dead, and Rick’s in jail. Enjoy! Just be sure you come back before morning. And don’t get in any fights!” He was already off the porch and vanished into the early evening shadows before he heard that last. Not that it made any difference. He’d been away for a while and would likely have to defend his territory against interlopers.
“Anlinny!” I looked up to see Zach racing across the yard toward me. I squatted and scooped him up in a big hug. “My truck broke but Mommy got me a new one and it’s red and I played with it while Mommy cooked macaroni and cheese and we ate it.” At least, I think
that’s what he said. His speech was still a little garbled. He could have said he’d played with a brick and they’d eaten marbles and geese.
Mommy was close behind, of course. “Fred just called about Rick. I’m so sorry.”
I set Zach down so he could do his Taz imitation around the yard. “You’re sorry?” I asked. “Because they caught him?”
“No, and you know that’s not what I’m saying. You cared about him once. Even if you don’t anymore, it’s hard to accept that somebody you loved and trusted can do something so horrible.”
I nodded. Paula knew all about that. Her ex had tried to steal Zach and kill me. “I think I’m past the shock,” I said.
“Are you? Why don’t we go inside and have a glass of wine, maybe two.”
“Sure.” I spotted Zach running in circles around a tree. “Zach, want some wine?”
“Yes!” He ran toward the house, dashed between Paula and me and went inside the house. That boy loves his wine.
Paula turned to follow him. “I hope my future daughter-in-law isn’t a wine connoisseur. I can just see their wedding when Zach proposes a toast with a glass of grape juice.”
I opened a fresh box of white zin for Paula and me and poured some juice into the red sippy cup I kept at my place for Zach. He could do a lot worse than toasting his bride—a woman who wouldn’t be good enough for him anyway—with a glass of grape juice.
I brought out a yellow truck for Zach, and he starting zooming it around the floor. Paula and I settled on the sofa. I closed only the screen door, letting the warm—okay, hot—breeze drift in with the soft sounds of evening…the laughter of kids playing, the bark of a dog, the noise of a cat fight. I relaxed at the familiar noises. Losing my home was no longer a threat, and my cat was enjoying himself. Life was good.
I took a long sip of my wine before speaking. “I’m okay with Rick going to prison for murder,” I said. “Really.”
“Really?”
“Okay, it’s kind of weird. I’ve never known anybody who committed murder and arson and—” I flung my arms wide. “Who knows what else?”
Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 02 - Murder, Lies & Chocolate Page 14
