Double Shot

by Cindy Blackburn

  “You look like a little old lady,” I told her and walked her to the elevator. “A very charming little old lady.”

  Mother stepped in and pushed the button. “And you look like Eddie Munster.”

  I told her she was giving me a headache, and she disappeared.

  ***

  Speaking of headaches, Ian arrived shortly after Mother left. He handed me the binoculars, snarled for good measure, and headed to the shower. But he stopped short at the suitcase blocking his path.

  “Who’s here?” he demanded.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” I said as I pulled various ingredients for his gourmet lunch out of the fridge. “But Mother is visiting.”

  “Tessie!” He jumped and looked all around. “Where is she?”

  I smiled to myself and assured him my mother was not on the premises at the moment. I must say it was rather rewarding, how the thought of sweet little old Tessie Hewitt could send big, bad, Ian Crawcheck into serious panic mode.

  I got busy frying bacon and had the BLT’s waiting when Ian emerged from the bathroom.

  He sat down at the counter and plunged in with gusto. I myself remained standing on the opposite side and ate with a little less enthusiasm. I suppose we could have sat down at the table, but breaking bread with my ex was surrealistic enough without making it any sort of pleasant occasion.

  “You got the pictures?” he asked.

  I nodded and mumbled a thank you.

  We kept eating, but curiosity got the better of me. “Did you have any trouble out there?” I asked. “Did anyone see you?”

  “Some teenage girl ran out the front door and started screaming at me. Weird.”

  I bit my lip. “Did you talk to her?”

  “I didn’t plan on it, but she stormed right up and asked me what I thought I was doing, like she owned the place or something.”

  I stopped eating while Ian continued, “The kid gave me a hell of a time, but I already had your damn pictures, so I told her to cool her jets and made a run for it.” He sneered. “For such a sweet looking thing, she was tough. She actually chased me to my car. I jumped in and locked the doors before she attacked.” He shook his head. “Weird.”

  I cleared my throat. “Did anyone else notice you?”

  “No,” he said and drank some water. “The teenager from hell was crazy enough, thank you.”

  I stifled a smile. Wilson’s team really was good at undercover surveillance. Evidently even Mackenzie Quinn didn’t know the cops were watching the place.

  “So what’s this scene that’s so all-important?”

  “Scene?”

  “Earth to Adelé Nightingale.” Ian dug into another sandwich. “The scene at the waterfalls? The reason I risked my life at the Wade On Inn?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I waved a hand. “That scene.”

  Of course, there was no waterfall scene whatsoever in An Everlasting Encounter. All the heavy action in my current masterpiece was occurring in the lavender field.

  “Well, let’s see.” I thought fast, and the tropical paradise of Hawaii came to mind. “My heroine,” I appealed to the skylight for ideas, “is Delta Touchette. She’s, umm, being held captive deep in the jungle—”

  “Since when do they have jungles in Europe?”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m branching out from medieval Europe for this one. We’re somewhere in the South Pacific. Anyway,” I continued, “Delta’s assailant must get rid of her, and all evidence of her, as he is being chased by the law—a Tarzan-type character named, umm, Skylar Staggs. He’s the hero.”

  “Tarzan?”

  I contemplated Tarzan. “I think Tarzan lived in Africa, but Skylar has the same skill set—swinging from vines, diving from cliffs, that sort of thing. So, the evil kidnapper, whose name I am still working on, has decided to throw Delta to certain death into the waterfalls of the Goochie Leoia Gorge—”

  “Come again?”

  “Goochie Lee-O-I-A,” I repeated as the name started to grow on me.

  I shrugged. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten.” Well, that certainly wasn’t a lie! “Skylar will arrive just in time to witness the villain tossing Delta into the watery depths. Skylar will dive in after her, and inevitably we’ll have a hot and heavy love scene in some verdant grove of banyan trees at the bottom of the waterfalls—”

  I glanced up to see my ex smiling at me in a most disconcerting fashion.

  “Not we, we,” I clarified. “Delta and Skylar.”

  “I’ve missed this,” he said, and I frowned accordingly.

  “Finish your lunch and get out of here,” I ordered.

  “No, really, Jessie. You have a great imagination. You’re always so entertaining.”

  I blinked twice and repeated my request that he go away.

  Chapter 16

  Lavinia Barineau stood in the doorway of the drawing room and frowned at her son, who continued staring out the window at nothing. Whatever had gotten into her normally active and robust offspring? Indeed, Trey had been daydreaming the entire week.

  It wasn’t healthy, Lavinia surmised, and it could cost him his title. For Trey’s father had stipulated in his will that his son must marry by age twenty-eight, or lose his inheritance.

  Lavinia knocked briskly and moved into the room. And before even offering her son a proper good morning, she reminded him his birthday was only one short week away.

  Trey listened politely as his mother discussed the Barineau family traditions. Gentlemen were to marry and settle down properly, she insisted. She folded her arms and inquired, not for the first time, as to which St. Celeste maiden he had in mind.

  When Trey’s only response was to return to the window, poor Lavinia lost her patience. She stamped her foot and scolded that unless Trey made a decision soon, Luxley Manor would pass to his cousin Hubert. Hubert might not possess Trey’s charm and good looks, Lavinia said, but at least the man had the decency to be married with two children and another one on the way.

  Trey Barineau smiled at his distressed mother and promised he would find himself a bride forthwith. And with that, he rang for the groom and directed him to saddle up his most trusty steed.

  ***

  I, too, determined immediate action was called for. I saddled up Wilson’s truck and drove to Hastie’s Diner. After all, I reasoned, I couldn’t very well send my elderly mother off sleuthing if I wasn’t willing to do a bit of it myself. Wilson wouldn’t approve. But he seldom follows my logic, impeccable though it may be.

  He had mentioned that Hastie’s Diner is a dive, and on that we could agree. Even the parking lot screamed greasy spoon. I parked in one of the many empty spaces and tried to blame the lack of customers on it being a Sunday afternoon.

  A few sleigh bells hanging from the door handle announced my arrival, and Melissa Purcell saw me instantly. She stood up from the counter, where she and another equally unbusy waitress were leaning, and waved furiously.

  I smiled brightly and ventured forth to be introduced to Tammy. She was not exactly thrilled to meet me. But when I reached my hand across the counter, she did manage to lift her head and wobble it slightly. Then she resumed staring glassy-eyed at the front door.

  Melissa grabbed a coffee pot, which almost shouted lukewarm and stale, and led me across the room to one of the many unoccupied booths overlooking the parking lot.

  “Sit over here, Tessie.” She waved to a seat where the vinyl wasn’t torn. “The coconut cream pie is really good today, so save room.”

  She hovered over me as I sat down, and began reciting all the calorie-laden possibilities for my dining pleasure. When she got to the description of the meat loaf plate, I interrupted and told her I had already eaten lunch. Her face dropped, but I kept smiling and said the coconut cream pie sounded just right.

  “Dessert it is, then,” she said. “Maybe it will put some meat on your bones.”

  I also asked for tea instead of coffee, and she walked off.

  While Melissa was t
hus occupied, I might have tuned in to the stimulating conversations of the other clientele. But nothing was happening at Hastie’s Diner that could even remotely pique my interest.

  The only other customers were two men who made my mother look young. They were playing gin rummy on one of the Formica tables in front of the old-fashioned juke box, which was playing country and western music.

  Dare I say, I actually I recognized the pseudo-harmonizing of Carl and Lucas Wicket? Apparently they had gotten themselves a new long-haul rig that they were quite pleased with.

  Melissa came back laden with tea for two. She plopped down two brown mugs, pulled two sets of silverware rolled up in paper napkins from her apron, and took the seat across from me.

  “It’s great Clarence is having such good weather for you,” she began as we simultaneously dunked our tea bags into the two mini stainless steel pitchers she had also carried over. “You must have great weather where you’re from. I bet Hawaii is beautiful.”

  I didn’t have to respond before she changed the topic and asked after Candy and Karen. “Why didn’t they come with you?”

  “They’re both at work.”

  “On Sunday?”

  “Candy’s in retail and Karen’s self-employed. But at least she let me borrow her truck.” I pointed out the window, and Melissa stared aghast at Wilson’s jalopy.

  The sea of empty spaces surrounding the truck was just as depressing, and she groaned audibly. “We’re having a slow day,” she apologized. “So it’s perfect you came in.”

  “Does it ever get busy in here?” I asked rather skeptically.

  “Used to.” Her gaze wandered back to the window and the deserted car lot across Belcher Drive. A sign announcing “Big Daddy’s Used Cars and Trucks” was still up, more or less, but Big Daddy had clearly gone out of business ages ago.

  “Nowadays I barely bring home enough tips to make my rent.” Melissa sighed and poured a package of milk-like substance into her tea. “Do you make good tips, Tessie? Is your age a problem?”

  I considered the challenges of Tessie Hess, the fifty-two-year-old cocktail waitress from Honolulu and chose to be upbeat. “Not really.” I smiled. “The work is seasonal—some months I do really well.”

  When Melissa asked which months, I decided I should be the one asking questions. “If it’s so dead in here, why don’t you look for another job?” I whispered.

  “I have been,” she whispered back. “I’ve been after Elsa to give me a job, like, forever.”

  “You actually want to work at the Wade On Inn?” After I said it, I realized how negative that sounded. “I mean, I haven’t noticed any waitresses there, have I?”

  “Exactly.” She glanced at Tammy and remembered to keep her voice down. “Elsa claims she can’t afford to hire me. So everyone has to traipse up to the bar and get their beers from her.” Melissa shook her head. “It’s, like, totally ridiculous.”

  I was busy agreeing when an unnecessarily loud bell rang, and we both jumped.

  “Are you planning on serving that lady any actual food?” the man I assumed was Mr. Hastie bellowed from behind the wait station. He continued to bang his palm down on the bell thingy until Melissa stood up and yelled at him to hold his horses.

  The whole place, meaning all five of us, watched as she went behind the counter and hacked off a good quarter of the coconut cream pie. She brought it back to the booth and again sat down.

  “So tell me, Melissa.” I slid the desert in her direction and gestured for her to help me with it. “Have you been going to the Wade On Inn a long time?”

  “Only like forever.” She plunged her fork into a corner of the thing, and I worked on the opposite side.

  “The place must have an interesting history,” I said. “My friends warned me it was a bit rough.”

  “Maybe. But Henry’s pretty good at keeping people in line.”

  “Elsa has the money for a bouncer but not a waitress?”

  “She managed to find the money to hire a bookkeeper for a while there, too.” Melissa frowned and dug into a gob of whipped cream.

  “But I guess she really does need a bouncer,” I said. “Especially after those shootings last week?”

  My comment inspired a discussion of the murders, but I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know.

  Ever the optimist, I pressed on. “Didn’t I hear something about some other trouble a long time ago? Another shooting? Also involving this Fritz-guy?”

  “Lester Quinn got killed,” Melissa said without hesitating. “Right in front of Elsa and Mackenzie. It was an accident.”

  “But that’s so awful. Were you there?”

  She nodded and swallowed some more whipped cream. “Avis and Henry, too. Henry’s always saying Fritz was the one who was supposed to die.”

  I pretended to think about that. “You don’t think Henry killed Fritz?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said and smiled as I gasped. “He blames Fritz for Lester’s death. And he’s,” she hesitated, “real devoted to Elsa.”

  “Did Elsa blame Fritz?”

  “Elsa never blames anyone for anything. She’s what you call naïve.” Melissa pointed to the pie and told me to eat up.

  “What did you think of Fritz?” I asked as I dutifully tackled the remaining two-inch layer of whipped cream.

  She began fidgeting with empty package of fake milk. “Fritz and me go way back. We—well, you know?”

  I made a point of watching her shaking hands. “This is upsetting you,” I said. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

  Melissa assured me it wasn’t necessary. “It’s been over between me and Fritz for a long time.”

  “What about you and Spencer?” I ventured.

  She looked up from the pie. “We’re cooling it for a while until he gets his divorce.”

  I put my fork down and stared, wide-eyed. “You aren’t the reason he left his wife?” I asked breathlessly.

  She grinned, pleased with my reaction. “He’ll deny it. But yeah.”

  I imagined Spencer would deny it because it wasn’t true. But why not see what other fantasies Melissa Purcell was harboring?

  “Love is so strange isn’t it?” I asked. “Take Bobby Decker, for instance.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, I’m confused about him and the girl who died. Were they sleeping with each other or weren’t they?” I asked point blank.

  “Oh, absolutely. Bobby’s scared out of his mind the cops are gonna say he killed her.”

  I cringed. “So, like, you and Bobby were never—” I cut myself off and twirled an index finger in the air, since Melissa seemed to enjoy the coy routine.

  But this time she offered a straightforward denial and told me Bobby was not her type. “I hate that aw shucks and jeepers routine, don’t you?”

  I was thinking of my response when the damn bell behind the lunch counter started ringing again. I looked up to see a crazed Mr. Hastie furiously banging his bell, making an ungodly racket that drowned out Isabelle Eakes and all the Cornhuskers combined.

  “Earth to Mel,” he bellowed. “Move your sorry butt and get back to work!”

  Melissa sprang up and scurried to the counter without a backward glance.

  ***

  Our gallant hero spurred his horse to a fast gallop and hastened toward St. Celeste.

  The Duke of Luxley had tried to uncover the truth about the mysterious damsel before, but on each of his previous visits to Winnie Dickerson’s dress shop, the proprietress had stood her ground at her doorstep. Sputtering vague accusations regarding his character, the girl’s honor, and what had transpired in that lavender field, Winnie had stoutly refused him entry.

  Trey resolved to do better this time, and was astonished when Mrs. Dickerson actually welcomed him into her shop. Indeed, she sat him down at a table littered with an abundance of fabric and lace and told him everything that had transpired since he had delivered Sarina Blyss to her doorstep.
<
br />   Sarina Blyss! What a beautiful name! Trey smiled wistfully, but Winnie was saying something else now. Something about the lady’s true identity—that she was in actuality a girl named Daisy O’Dell, a former chambermaid.

  Mrs. Dickerson explained to the stunned and shocked Duke how the girl had been hauled off by Constable Klodfelder that very morning. Arrested for thievery.

  Thievery! Trey sprang to his feet. The lady of the lavender fields was innocent, and it was up to him to prove it! To secure her future as Sarina Blyss Barineau, the Duchess of Luxley!

  ***

  I jumped when the phone rang.

  “I found out what you wanted, Honeybunch.”

  “You did? But that’s fantastic.” I gave Snowflake a thumbs up, and told my mother to come on home and tell me all about it.

  “Oh, but I can’t say much of anything right now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Doreen might overhear me.”

  I scowled at the cat. “You’re still with Doreen?”

  “Mm-hmm. In her guestroom. She and Ethel gave me such a pleasant tour of Cotswald Estates. This place is just lovely. But I still like living at The Live Oaks,” Mother continued. “I’d miss my friends far too much if I moved up here. And of course I’d never want to get in your way. Especially now that you’ve found yourself a new beau.”

  “Mother,” I interrupted. “You can come home now.” I reminded her I was heading back out to the Wade On Inn that evening and wanted to hear what she had learned beforehand.

  “We’ll have a nice dinner together,” I said. “I took some of Wilson’s lasagna out of the freezer.”

  “My, that does sound good.”

  Why was she hesitating? “We’ll have a nice meal,” I insisted. “And then you and Snowflake can rest while I go out. You’ve had a long day, no?”

  “Well, yes. But I’m afraid the plans have changed a bit.”

  Somehow I knew not to blame the stomachache I was getting on that stupid coconut cream pie.

  “Mother,” I said sternly. “Why are you in Doreen Buxton’s guestroom?”