For a moment Goat glared at her as though he planned to light the bed on fire with his mind. Then he laughed, a gorgeous sound that Stella wished she could take a bath in.
“Were you paying any attention at all the last eight hours? What we done, I don’t do with just anyone. I put my mark on you, woman, and my suitcase is in your closet. You want to throw me out, well, I guess that’s your prerogative. But the way I see it, from my perspective, anyway, I done showed you how I feel, and you shouldn’t even have to ask.”
Chapter Eighteen
Stella resisted the urge to go by the coffee shop and spy on Daphne Simmons and Goat, aided by a delicious sense of trust that just seemed like a natural evolution in their hours-old relationship. It was only eight o’clock. The only friends Stella could think of who might be awake were the Green Hat Ladies, and she was pretty sure she knew where to find them.
Sure enough, Novella and Gracie were taking up most of the seating near the free coffee service set up in the lobby. They had a box of Fiber Ones open on the table and as Stella slid into a chair at their table, Gracie was upending the Splenda into her purse. Despite the move being a technical foul, Stella couldn’t find it in her heart to blame the ladies, who were on fixed incomes and sharing a single room to save on expenses.
It was a shame that their husbands couldn’t come, but Stella figured the arrangement suited everyone. The gals had spent the prior evening as they spent every wedding and christening and church barbecue and holiday party—sitting in the corner gossiping about everyone they assumed were out of earshot, and their menfolk were free to gather at the Brennans’ house, which was outfitted with a basement rec room that had its own knotty pine bar, and drink beer and watch a game or a little Fox News. Stella, on the other hand, had a boyfriend now, a thought that gave her a secret thrill from her toes to her hairline. She and Goat were going to talk when they got back to town, set up the whys and wherefores of their relationship, a prospect so exciting Stella could hardly stand it.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said cheerfully, reaching for a Fiber One. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Two pairs of shrewd eyes turned in their nests of wrinkles to regard her suspiciously. “What’s got into you?” Novella said.
“I reckon she’s happy on account of her young man,” Gracie said, “though I doubt his doctor would approve, what with his back troubles.”
Stella blinked. BJ. Immediately, a backlog of guilt washed over her. She’d barely thought of BJ for the last eighteen hours—ever since he was hauled off to the hospital. Of course, the elderly ladies had retired from the party before Stella and Goat got cozy on the dance floor, so they had no way of knowing that they’d spent the evening together.
“I doubt BJ’s to blame, seein’ as he spent the night in his room with Jorge.” They all looked up to see Chrissy calmly pouring coffee into a pair of Styrofoam cups. “Besides, I’m sure Stella wouldn’t dream of going against his doctor’s advice.”
“Why, Chrissy Shaw, don’t you look pretty!” Novella exclaimed. Stella sighed. The ladies had a soft spot for her young assistant, partly because she had been a sweet cherub of a child who’d stolen their hearts thirty years ago, and partly because Chrissy always put on her best manners for the old ladies; Stella suspected she did it just to get to her.
“Oh, Mrs. Glazer, you’re the pretty one,” Chrissy said. “Why, look at that sweet little sweater, it just sets off your green eyes. And here I am in an old rag—why, I’m just ashamed of myself!”
Stella harrumphed loudly, wondering if she was the only one who noticed the bit of fire-engine-red silk peeping out from the neckline of Chrissy’s sweats, or the trail of love bites along her neck. “I imagine you could find something else to get ashamed over, if you gave it a speck of thought,” she said mildly. “What are you doing up, anyway? Nothing good on pay-per-view?”
Chrissy shot her a look laced with good-natured wickedness. “I was just up reading my verses,” she said. “I do like to start my day with the Good Word.”
“Oh, the devil is going to claim you for his own,” Stella whispered as the ladies murmured their approval and made room for Chrissy to join them.
“I’d like to see him go up against these girls,” Chrissy whispered back. “You’re just jealous because they like me better than you.”
“I believe I saw the sheriff at the party last night,” Novella said. “Mighty bold of him, seein’ as he’s the one sent poor BJ to the hospital again.”
“But BJ moved in on his woman!” Gracie exclaimed. “Sheriff Jones couldn’t just stand by and allow that to happen, now could he?”
“I don’t know,” Chrissy said sweetly. “What do you think, Stella? How are you ever going to decide between your two admirers?”
Stella felt herself flushing deeply. She took a sip of her coffee to cover her embarrassment while her friends debated her romantic prospects.
“I wish I could stay,” Chrissy said, “but I want to call my mama and see how she and daddy are faring before they get busy with their day.”
“Such a thoughtful daughter,” Gracie exclaimed, while Chrissy shot Stella a smug look.
“But I had a little information for Stella first.” Chrissy pulled out her phone and tapped at it.
“Oh my, is it something incriminating?” Gracie asked.
“The case of Bryant’s killer?” Novella demanded. “Y’all closing in on a suspect?”
“That’s enough,” Stella said in alarm. “Listen, all of you, you can’t be talking about this.”
“We know, we know—we keep your secrets, Stella!” Novella protested.
“No, I mean—I think I’m off this one. Seriously, the local cops have it well in hand, Divinity’s safe, the wedding’s going to happen—I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t just let them do their job.”
More goggling. “You never just let them do their job,” Novella observed. “You always say that letting them do their job is a sure way to fudge things up.”
“ ‘A woman can’t have too much firepower on her side,’ ” Gracie said, quoting Stella, who winced.
“I know, I know, but there ain’t any woman getting beat up around here,” she protested.
“Well, except for me,” Chrissy said. “Almost, anyway. But whatever, I’m just practically your kin, and I’d hate to take you away from your busy day.”
“You’re not helping.”
“On the contrary, I am too helping, and I left a very, um, fulfilling passage in my book to bring this to you, which I’m now wondering why I bothered seeing how ungrateful you are. I guess I can just shut this down and head back to my devotions.”
“What are you reading, Chrissy?” Gracie, who was a devoted member of the church Women’s Club book group, asked with interest.
“Oh, it’s called Hearing from God Each Morning,” Chrissy told her. “It’s got a special story for every single day of the year.”
“It sounds inspirational.” Gracie sighed.
“Give me that damn phone,” Stella snapped.
“But I thought you said we were just going to let folks do their jobs,” Chrissy protested sweetly. “That everything was under control.”
Only Stella saw her dangle the phone from her fingers, teasing her with it. Chrissy alone knew that Stella could no more resist a lead than she could a blueberry doughnut—even if she was still throbbing from last night’s romp, even if she was now Goat’s official girlfriend. The case was in her blood, and Chrissy knew it.
“I wouldn’t want to—”
“I said give it here!”
Chrissy sighed and allowed Stella to snatch the phone. She clicked the screen and saw a dense paragraph in a tiny font. Exasperated, she thrust the phone back at Chrissy. “You know I can’t read that.”
“Oh, I forgot about your failing vision,” Chrissy said. “Ladies,
I’m so sorry, will you excuse me? I need to go read to Stella.”
“Always thinking of others,” Gracie murmured.
“You take care of yourself, now, precious,” Novella added.
“Heaven’s angels are smiling down on you, sweetheart!” Gracie called after her, not to be outdone.
Stella waited until they had rounded the corner before grabbing Chrissy’s elbow and dragging her to the little nook that had once housed a row of phones, back before every human over the age of three had a device practically glued to his or her ear for a good part of every day.
“What the hell was that? Hearing from God Each Morning? Did you make that up?”
“I sure didn’t. Danyelle got it from her hairdresser and Tater made me read to him out of it last time I babysat.”
“You’re shameless.”
Chrissy smirked. “That’s a big old pot calling a kettle black. But you might want to think this through. I mean, if you’re serious about letting this one go, well, I guess I’d understand.”
“Now you’re just smarting off,” Stella said. “If I have to take that thing out of your hands and go hunting down my reading glasses, you know I will, and then I won’t have no choice but to read all them dirty texts Ian’s probably sending you right now.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll read it to you. And I got to say, at least it goes along with the spirit of the day.”
“Huh?”
“ ‘Alexia Rose Halburtson’ and Wayne Donald Griffin were joined in marriage on June 15, 2009, at Big Lake Presbyterian Church. Alexia is the daughter of—’ ”
“Wait up,” Stella exclaimed. “You telling me Lexie was married?”
“Still is,” Chrissy said. “There’s no record of a divorce or separation ever being filed.”
Stella whistled. “Damn, you sure about that?”
Chrissy glared at her. Stella added hastily, “I don’t mean are you sure about are they still married, I just mean, well, you got any more info on their, ah, current status?”
“Of course I do, Stella. If I wanted to I could tell you the state of Wayne’s prostate and Lexie’s old Girl Scout troop crest, ’cause I’m just that good. Though I expect all you probably want to know is that them two don’t live together and, far as I can tell, haven’t since practically six months after they were married. I got leases, Visa statements, phone records… all of which you probably won’t even need when I show you this.”
She tapped away on her phone and held it up. Stella had to squint—but there was no mistaking the big, muscular, bearded man posing in front of a shop whose awning read “Wayne’s World Gun and Bow Outpost.” In the shop window was a headless mannequin making a hook ’em horns sign with one plastic hand—while the other clutched a bow nearly as tall as its clavicle.
Wayne, assuming that was the man in the photo, was dressed in a leather vest with several heavy chains looped through the pocket. He aped the mannequin’s pose with an SSK .950 that Stella happened to know was the biggest centerfire rifle on the market.
“I don’t suppose you’re showing this because the man has mighty expensive taste in sidearms,” Stella mused.
“Hey, what you do at this point is up to you, I suppose. I think I’ve kept Ian waiting long enough, ’specially since I didn’t untie him all the way when I left. Here, gimme your phone.”
“What for?”
Chrissy didn’t wait, but dug into Stella’s purse herself and tapped it a couple times.
“There, I got the address queued up and ready. Guess what? Wayne’s World is in Paxton, only about thirty minutes if you hit the gas a bit.”
“Wayne… Lexie’s husband… who might not have been real happy she was seeing Bryant?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Stella, come on, time’s a wasting. Get out there and get a confession out of him. What I’d do, I’d go straight to the hard stuff because you got to get back here in time for dinner. Kam’s relatives are putting on a party for everyone who’s staying around—Mrs. Rangarajan’s having Indian food brought in all the way from Kansas City.”
“Oh, I’ll be back long before that,” Stella said, taking back her phone.
After all, she had to be back before Goat had a chance to suspect she’d done exactly what she’d promised not to.
Chapter Nineteen
Wayne’s World turned out to be located between a doughnut shop and a vacuum repair business that appeared to do sewing machines on the side. Stella was torn between checking out her competition and getting a little something to eat, since she hadn’t had a chance to get anything before hitting the road, and she and Goat had probably expended about eight thousand calories each the evening before.
The doughnut won out, but Stella called the shop while she made her way through a couple of iced crullers.
“Stella’s shop,” Jelloman’s booming, gruff voice barked.
“What happened to ‘Hardesty Sewing Machine Sales and Repair, how may I help you?’ ”
“Stella!” Jelloman hollered. “Aw, man, am I glad you called. What the fuck is stiffening, and where do you keep it?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Nadine Schleusner. I got her over by the button rack, but she’s getting a little restless. Man, these ladies of yours, they drive a hard bargain.”
“Oh no,” Stella said. “Nadine try to haggle with you?”
“She says you and she got an understanding,” Jelloman said defensively. “She says you always give her twenty percent off.”
“The only understanding we have is she can take her cheap ass over to Jo-Ann in Coffey if she don’t like the price,” Stella said. “Put ’er on.”
“Nah, I can handle it,” Jelloman said. “Everything good there? I hear they put off the wedding until Monday.”
“Yeah, that’s partly why I was calling,” Stella said. “Any chance I can talk you into covering one more day?”
“Sure, no problem. I got an old Harley Evolution engine I’m putting together for a guy, but he don’t need it until later in the week.”
“I owe you,” Stella said, relieved. “But listen, I got a sort of professional question for you.”
“I just got some real nice Big Buddha in,” her friend said in a much quieter voice. “Medical grade. Do wonders for BJ’s back.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Stella said hastily, though she wouldn’t be surprised if a little pot would make BJ feel a lot better. “What I wanted to know is, you ever run across a guy named Wayne Griffin?”
“Can’t say as I have—how come?”
“Well, he, uh, looks like he might run with the bike crowd. Big guy, beard, tats, leather…”
“Stella,” Jelloman said. “That’s profiling. Bike culture ain’t about what you wear. It’s who you are.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Stella said, backpedaling fast despite the fact that most of Jelloman’s biker friends looked like they could be his shorter, less intimidating cousins and dressed about exactly the way he did. “Thanks again for watching the shop and everything.”
“It’s nothing. You’d do the same for me. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Stella said as she hung up, thinking that if the day ever came, she might be even more out of place dealing weed out of Jelloman’s front parlor than he was selling notions from her shop. But that sort of detail didn’t matter when your friends needed you.
“Okay,” she told herself, when she’d finished licking the icing off her fingers and drained her coffee. She tossed the cup into the trash and went back to the Jeep, where she sorted through the tubs in the back for a few objects, which she slipped into her purse. Then she thought for a moment, weighing her usual practice of using only as much firepower as necessary against her tight schedule.
Stella had a double-edged policy that involved always being overarmed for any given situation, and walking away h
aving used less than was called for, a skill she’d honed over the years. When she’d first started out, she’d relied mostly on threatening her parolees with guns; the threat of being shot seemed to be the only way to get the attention of the men whose bad behavior had caused their victims to hire Stella in the first place. Now, she was able to achieve even better results with judicious application of specialized tools and rare martial-arts moves designed to deliver maximum pain with a minimum of evidence.
“Oh, hell,” she muttered. Just this once, she could sacrifice style and flair and just get the job done quickly, and make it back in time to perhaps enjoy a leisurely hour or two in the sack with Goat before they had to dress for dinner.
She unlocked the steel box bolted to the floor of the jeep and chose the Ruger. It felt heavy in her purse, especially after she dumped the contents of her public-interrogation kit in, too. These were the tools she employed in a situation where a gentleman had to be kept quiet and calm—for instance, in the back room of a public place of commerce.
She patted her hair in place and fixed a pleasant smile on her face before entering the shop. A little bell affixed to the door tinkled, and the man from the photo looked up from a powerful-looking crossbow he was showing to a customer.
“Nice morning, ain’t it?” he said in a deep and pleasant baritone. He had an engaging smile that lit up the shop, which was nicely merchandized, the cases and racks of weapons and accessories set off with artificial plants and beautifully lettered signage. “I’ll be with you right quick.”
Stella browsed while Wayne showed his customer—a twitchy skinny lad with pale hair sheared close—the various features on the bow. “Pick it up,” he suggested. “See how it sets with you.”
The young man tried it out, aiming the unloaded bow at the front window.
“Whoa there, my friend, not like that,” Wayne said, adjusting his customer’s grip so the bow was resting on the heel of his hand. “Try it like that and you’re liable to shear off the tips of your thumb and fingers.”
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