“That song—it’s from My Fair Lady.”
“My who?”
Stella was about to excoriate her partner for the sin of being far too young, since she had no memory of any cultural milestone before the midnineties, when she stepped into the party and found herself shocked into silence.
Several dozen revelers were already in high spirits, clustered around the cheese cubes and the help-yourself bar and playfully batting at the paper wedding bells suspended from the ceiling. Kam was at the center of an enthusiastic cluster of female relatives, all of whom seemed determined to straighten his tie or pick threads off his sleeves or pat down an errant lock of hair, while Dotty looked on with her hands clasped in delight as if she were contemplating a mound of butter-pecan ice cream. Half a dozen young men—undoubtedly the attendants whose charms Chrissy had been touting—clanked beer bottles in a rowdy toast. Judging from the nearby table of empties, these were far from the first of the evening.
But none of these were what drew Stella’s gaze.
Over by the salsa bar, wedged between a waiter holding a tray of miniquiches and a young man of about thirteen, who was double-dipping from the guacamole, was a tall, lean, glowering drink of water in a pale-gray shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes.
When Goat Jones saw Stella, he unfolded his arms and the corner of his mouth twitched and he reached her in about half the number of strides it would take an ordinary man. He took his time looking her over, starting at her face and letting his gaze rove down her dress, all the way to her sparkly shoes, and just as slowly back up. He reached out one big, strong, callused hand and flicked the curly strands that had escaped the pins in her hair.
“What do you call it, when you ladies put up your hair like this?” he finally said, the rumbling timber of his voice somehow managing to flip the mute switch on every other conversation in the room.
Stella swallowed, and licked her lips. “Um, a chignon. I guess.”
Goat nodded, as though the answer was just what he was looking for and he was filing it away for future reference. Then he cleared his throat.
“I believe I owe you an apology, Stella Hardesty. It’s my fault your date for the weekend is lyin’ in bed an hour away instead of standing here by your side.” He let go of her hair and his fingers grazed the edge of her jaw, sending off alarms up and down her spine. “But somehow, I can’t bring myself to say I’m sorry.”
Then he turned and stalked out of the room, not casting so much as a backward glance her way.
Chapter Nine
“I pleaded with him every which way from Tuesday to stay for dinner,” Dotty said. She’d seated Stella at the attendants’ table and switched the place cards so they were next to each other. The rest of the attendants—including Dotty’s niece, who was evidently in the market for a software engineer with a Chicago accent and a goatee, since she’d glommed on to exactly such a groomsman and not yet come up for air—had gotten well acquainted over dinner and now that the dessert course was finishing up, a festival atmosphere had settled in. “But he said he wouldn’t dream of it since he’s not in the wedding. So then I told him half of these folks aren’t either, and besides you need a date, and that just got him all flustered and he went and stood over there by the chips until you got here.”
Kam’s groomsman took that moment to suavely hook his arm around Dotty’s niece’s shoulders, accidentally dislodging Stella’s purse and knocking it to the floor. The lad was too lovestruck to notice.
“My, my, love certainly does seem to be in the air,” Dotty said, elbowing Stella in the ribs as she picked up the fallen purse. “Might be you could finally get together. It’s about time.”
Before Stella could do much more than sputter in response, Kam came over, trailing his sisters. “Mom’s had one too many,” he said grimly.
Soorat added, “She’s threatening to call up Kam’s old college girlfriends.”
“Oh no,” Dotty gasped, a hand at her throat.
“Don’t worry,” Rashita said hastily. “It’s going to be okay. Mom loves to dance. Why don’t you two open up the dance floor, and then we’ll take it from there.”
Kam offered Dotty his arm, which she accepted after shooting a worried glance at Stella. As if on cue, the hired DJ, who’d been spinning show tunes all evening, launched into “You Were Meant for Me” from Singin’ in the Rain.
After the first few spins, Dotty relaxed in Kam’s arms, and even seemed to start enjoying herself. Before long, Soorat and Rashita dragged their mother onto the floor, and Stella was relieved to see her grinning as she twirled and bumped.
Stella couldn’t help feeling a little bit wistful as other couples joined the first dance and the song gave way to “I Have Dreamed” from The King and I. Chrissy, passing by on the arm of a red-faced and loose-limbed Deputy Lloyd Hubbard, gave her a wink that was anything but subtle.
After the song wound down, Kam went to have a word with the DJ, commandeering the microphone while the young man played an instrumental medley at a low volume.
“If I could have everyone’s attention,” Kam started. His sisters, who had taken their seats with their mother securely wedged between them with no way to escape, immediately started clanking silverware against the glassware. They were soon joined by everyone who was seated, while the dancers gathered themselves or, in the case of Dotty’s niece and her new beau, disentangled themselves so as to give their full attention to the groom.
“I hope you’re all having a nice evening,” Kam said politely. This was greeted by stomping and hooting and more applauding, which he attempted to quell but eventually had to simply outwait, as sometimes happens late in a well-lubricated evening. “I have a little announcement to make. Dotty and I have been talking, and—well—since she and me are joining up to become one and all, it got us thinking about family and how important it is and, see, we just don’t feel right getting hitched without her whole family attending.”
“Kam!” Dotty exclaimed. To Stella she stage whispered, “I had no idea.”
“But I’ve been in touch with Tilly and Taffy and they tell me that their, uh, legal counsel assures them that while their, um, certain family members are unfortunately detained over the weekend, they’ll all be free to join us on Monday.” He coughed delicately, though Stella knew there wasn’t a single person in the room who hadn’t heard that Divinity was in the lockup. “And as luck would have it, this fine resort was able to fit us into the Galena Room at seven p.m. Monday evening. It’s just going to be a simple service, but all of you are welcome, and the resort is extending the special low rate through Sunday night. And since we got the photographer and flowers and the band and all scheduled for tomorrow night, why, we’re going to go ahead and have the reception then.”
“Wait just one minute, young man,” Shirlette called from her table. “Y’all are calling off the wedding?”
“No, they just postponed it,” Novella shouted at her. She had always had superior hearing, a fact which she enjoyed lording over her friends.
“Is she pregnant?” Shirlette demanded, earning a hearty round of laughter.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful woman,” Kam said, staring at Dotty as though overwhelmed all over again by his good fortune. Stella snuck a peek at Mrs. Rangarajan, who looked unamused.
“One more thing,” Kam added when he was finally able to drag his eyes off his fiancée, his smile turning sheepish. “The, uh, guys are all going out for a stag party in about ten minutes. All you men are invited. Meet us in the lobby. And, ladies, don’t worry, we’ve got a designated driver, even if I did have to fetch him out of the bar. Say hi, sheriff.”
All eyes turned to the back of the room, where Goat was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling even more fiercely than he had early. He gave a slight nod as the room broke into cheers.
Kam surrender
ed the mic back to the DJ, and as the strains of “Don’t Rain on My Parade” filled the air he slid in the chair next to his bride.
“I didn’t know you’d met the sheriff,” Dotty said.
“I didn’t until just now, but I do believe he’s the only sober guy here. I found him in the bar hunched over a club soda.”
As Kam gave his bride to be the sort of good-bye kiss that brought to mind an oceangoing departure from which he might not be expected to return, rather than a separation of a few hours, Stella was about to excuse herself when Lloyd showed up, looking disgruntled.
“You seen Chrissy?” he asked. “We were going to run into town for some smokes and now I can’t find her.”
Stella scanned the room, realizing she hadn’t seen Chrissy for quite some time either. “When did you last see her?”
“Oh, ’bout an hour, I guess. She went up to fix another plate of tacos and never came back.”
Stella would have dismissed her partner’s absence as an attempt to evade Lloyd, except that Chrissy was absolutely dogged when on the case. Stella was quite certain Chrissy wouldn’t have given up until she’d wrung every bit of useful information from the deputy.
A frisson of worry sealed the deal—a raising of the hairs on the back of her neck. Stella had learned not to ignore her instincts. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said. “But just in case, let me take a look around.”
“Where all you gonna look?” Lloyd said, in the manner of a woebegone hound.
“Oh, just—here and there.” A buzzing from her jeweled evening bag got her attention. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
On her way to the ladies’ room, her standard choice for answering off-hours phone calls that could potentially be coming from current or future clients, Stella took a peep and saw that it was Chrissy calling. “Where’d you run off to?” she said by way of hello.
“Golf course,” came a strangled whisper.
“What?”
“Hurry.” The connection was broken.
Stella stared at the phone for the two seconds it took her to switch into on-the-job mode. Then she started running, an exercise made more difficult by her shoes, but unlike Chrissy she didn’t know if she could navigate the resort barefoot.
And she had to get to the golf course, fast. She had no doubt that Chrissy was in some kind of trouble, because her assistant didn’t make pleas for assistance lightly. No, this was not likely to be a case of Stella being needed to zip up her dress or pin up a fallen hem. If Chrissy was in over her head, it was dire indeed.
Out in the circular entrance, a variety of cars, ranging from beat-up pickups to a gleaming stretch limo, lined the drive. Stella ran past them and spotted what she was looking for. She leapt into the golf cart that some guest had driven to dinner and floored it.
Stella was not a golfer, but her departed husband Ollie had been. Stella couldn’t count the number of times that he’d begged off weekend chores by reminding her that he deserved a little rest after his long workweek, leaving Stella to wash the breakfast dishes and clean the house and wonder when the hell the day would arrive when she too deserved some rest.
Ollie had been bitten hard enough by the golf bug that he briefly owned a cart of his own, which he drove down to the public course east of Prosper until one night he stopped for a beer or six at a tavern on the way home and put the cart upside down in the ditch. It was Stella who had to go fetch it and get it upright and drive it to the course, where she attached a “For Sale” sign to it, so she knew exactly what to do to get this one moving.
The cart didn’t exactly hurtle down the resort road, but it went faster than Stella would have in her heels. She didn’t hesitate before driving right onto the green. Lacking a horn, she started hollering.
“I’m on my way and I’m armed! Sheriff’s right behind me!”
Situations like these were a tough call. If Stella had misunderstood, and Chrissy had simply suffered a splinter in her foot or run out of Coke to mix with her rum, it might prove a little embarrassing to show up hell-for-leather. If she’d run afoul of the twitchy sort of trouble—say a hopped-up gangbanger wanting cash for a fix—coming on strong the way Stella was might get Chrissy hurt or worse.
But since the likeliest scenario had to do with the fact that she and Stella had stumbled into the investigation of a murder, and said murderer was probably highly invested in not getting caught—
A figure streaked across the green in front of her. He or she was dressed in black, wearing a tight shirt and cap that obscured any hints as to gender. “Over here,” Chrissy yelled, sounding a bit exasperated. “Took you long enough.”
Stella didn’t let up on the gas, bouncing over sand traps and putting greens, following the sound of Chrissy’s voice to a corner of the course that cozied up to a wooden restroom with a bench out front. It looked pretty and a little spooky in the moonlight, and as she neared, an owl joined in, adding its own commentary on Stella’s arrival.
She ditched the cart, almost tripping as she clambered out of the seat, and ran to the restroom.
“Warmer, warmer… oh, look at you,” Chrissy said as Stella threw open the door to the restroom.
Chrissy was standing next to the stalls with her arms up in the air, her wrists tied around the pole leading from the stall to the ceiling. She looked unharmed; the worst damage she had suffered was a mussed hairdo and a broken dress strap that trailed off her shoulder.
“What on earth!”
“You got your multitool with you?”
“Do I ever not?” Stella demanded, getting the lightweight little Leatherman Skeletool she carried for more formal events out of her evening bag. She used the carbon fiber blade to make quick work of the knots. “Shitty rope,” she added, testing the gauge of the nylon cord. “I wouldn’t tie up a dog with this. You would have got yourself out in no time. Where’d you call me from, anyway?”
“He dropped the rope out there. When he went to get it, he made a point of waving his gun around.”
“He had a gun?”
“Yeah, just some cheap-ass Diamondback .22. I don’t know if he even knew how to use it—he was wearing gloves, like gardening gloves? I don’t think he could have got off an accurate shot, but I called you instead of finding out. I don’t think it was exactly a brain surgeon who dragged me out of there.” Her face fell. “Course, he did get me when I came out of the john, which I guess either makes me a dumbass or him smarter than I gave him credit for.”
“Oh, now. What’s important here is you’re not dead or even beat to hell, right?” Stella gave Chrissy an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
“Well, someone ain’t very happy we’re poking around, looking into Bryant’s murder.”
“Yeah… let’s think that through a minute, okay?” Stella said, tossing the rope into the trash. Even if she had the resources to investigate, the rope’s fibers probably wouldn’t reveal much other than that it was made in bulk in some developing country. Besides, Stella’s investigative techniques had never been the sort to rely on technical details. “My friend’s cousin’s child’s fiancé gets killed. We have never even met the man face-to-face, but we go hunting down the killer so Dotty can get married.”
“Pretty thin motivation, you ask me,” Chrissy grumbled.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t our motivation we’re trying to figure out here. Now, the murderer stands to lose if we find him, obviously.”
“Yeah, I’ll be mighty pissed off at him for wasting my time and making me miss the chocolate fountain.”
“But what we got to figure out,” Stella said, ignoring her assistant, “is what he stands to gain with Bryant dead. ’Cause it’s got to be something big enough to risk dragging you out here in the middle of the night just to send a warning. And if he’s got any kind of grasp on the whole escalation of threat thing, he’s got to be willing to do you worse next tim
e. Or me, for that matter.”
“Or she.”
“Huh?”
“I said, or she. Wasn’t any particularly big person dragged me out here, I hate to say. And he or she didn’t say nothing the whole time, and it’s not like those knots are tied in a particularly manly way.”
“How do you tie knots in a manly—oh, never mind,” Stella interrupted herself hastily, realizing Chrissy probably had an opinion on the subject. “Okay. What woman do you think might be wanting us to back off looking for her?”
“Well, considering Divinity got Bryant stolen right out from under her by her own roommate, maybe he had other gals on the side that weren’t too happy about his catting around.”
“Or he might have had dissatisfied clients who felt like he wasn’t turning them into Taylor Swift quick enough.”
“Yeah. Our trouble is, we don’t know enough about the man.” Ordinarily, when Stella took on a case, she made a point of knowing all about her future parolee before their first encounter: what made him tick; what he ate for breakfast; where he drank, gambled, and washed his truck; and most especially how he was likely to respond when faced with an uncooperative female. But nearly all she knew about Bryant Molder was that he’d gotten in the way of a crossbow bolt.
“I don’t know if you want to be going back to ask Divinity about him, since they’re still kind of pissed about their evidence walking off, and if you show up it might jog someone’s memory that you were in spitting distance of it earlier today.”
“Oh, shit,” Stella said, smacking her forehead. “I didn’t even ask. Did Lloyd let on what happened after we left?”
“Yeah, but I had to pour like three peach margaritas down his throat to get it out of him. Get this, Fairweather’s blaming the Fayette folks. I guess he’s hopping mad at Daphne, thinks she forgot to lock the freezer after he told her the combination. They’re trying to figure out if one of the boys ran the bow up to Fayette and forgot to tell anyone, but Harvey and Charlie got the weekend off and they’re fishing down at Little Dixie Lake and can’t no one get a hold of ’em.”
Sophie Littlefield - Bad Day 05 - A Bad Day for Romance Page 9
