by Gail Oust
CJ was the first of the partners to spy me. “Scooter!” he boomed. “What brings you here?”
Matt acknowledged me with a polite nod, then pulled his cell phone from his suit pocket and scrolled for messages. In the interim between the reception and now, he’d replaced his stained necktie with a similar one.
Since Matt apparently was ignoring me, I addressed my ex instead: “Hey, CJ, I didn’t even get a chance to say hello to you at Shirley’s funeral. Every time I looked, you were huddled with the mayor or one of the councilmen.”
CJ did his cat-who-ate-the-canary imitation. “Big plans on the horizon, darlin’. Stay tuned for breakin’ news.”
Uh-oh. While good for CJ, this usually meant it was time for the person on the receiving end to get his affairs in order.
Finished checking for messages, Matt gave me a distracted wave and walked toward his office.
“Amber’s takin’ Linds shoppin’ in Atlanta some weekend real soon to get her started on her wardrobe for college,” CJ said, adjusting the knot in his tie. “After scorin’ high on her SATs, our girl deserves a reward. Who would’ve guessed she was the brains in the family. Chad sure has his nose out of joint since hearin’ the news.”
“Chad needs to concentrate on his studies, not worry that his sister outperformed him on some test.”
“I hear you.” CJ chuckled. “But that doesn’t do much for our boy’s wounded ego.”
“Guess we’ll have to put a Band-Aid on his injured pride when he comes home for the summer.”
CJ shot his cuffs to better view his Rolex. “That’s somethin’ we need to discuss, but now isn’t a good time.”
Instantly my mother’s instinct went on full alert. “Is anything wrong?”
“Don’t go gettin’ your panties in a twist, darlin’. We’ll talk soon enough.”
“Okay.” I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “It’s really Matt who I wanted to see. I … ah … have a question for him about the contract he drew up when I bought Spice It Up!” I improvised.
“I’m sure he’d be happy to put your mind at ease.” CJ nodded his blond head in the direction Matt had taken. “You know the way.”
Matt was on the phone when I entered but signaled me to wait. Years ago, Matt and CJ had converted the rooms at the rear of the building into two spacious offices. I took the opportunity to admire the view from the windows behind Matt’s antique partners’ desk, an anniversary gift from Mary Beth. Both his and CJ’s offices overlooked a flagstone terrace and a sloping lawn mounded with pretty pink azaleas. Once or twice a year, the yard became the setting to entertain their clients on a lavish scale. Before Miss Peach Pit, the new and improved Mrs. Prescott, arrived on the scene, I’d been the hostess with the mostess at these events.
“What can I help you with, Piper?” Matt swiveled his chair around to face me. He motioned toward a pair of brass-studded leather club chairs, the rich color of fine Burgundy wine. “I overheard you say something about a clause in the purchase agreement that you don’t understand?”
I took the seat closest to the door. I realized belatedly I should have taken more time to consider my approach. Being impulsive was a fault of mine. Ask forgiveness, not permission, was a philosophy that often overruled my better judgment.
Matt tapped away on his keyboard and brought up a file on his computer screen. “Brig Abernathy was the owner of record for the building you bought. He’s a curmudgeon when it comes to detail. I made doubly sure all the t’s were crossed and the i’s dotted.”
Shifting uneasily in my seat, I cleared my throat. If Matt turned out to be Shirley’s killer, I was putting myself in his cross hairs. But I was safe here in his office, wasn’t I? Should he try any funny business, I’d scream bloody murder—poor word choice—and bring Wanda and CJ running to my rescue. Gathering my nerve, I dove in headfirst. “Um, actually I’m here on another matter. I believe you’re missing a certain item from your wardrobe.”
Matt’s expression underwent a subtle change. “Sorry, Piper, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Does a charcoal gray terry-cloth bathrobe, size Large, ring a bell?”
He pursed his lips but didn’t answer.
“I believe I found your robe in Shirley’s closet,” I continued, nonplussed.
“Ridiculous! What would my robe be doing in her closet?” He picked up a manila folder and flipped it open. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
If he thought I’d be dismissed this easily, he wasn’t as shrewd as I thought he was. “Were you and Shirley having an affair?”
“I resent the insinuation!” he snapped.
“I’m sure you do,” I said mildly, “but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Naturally I deny it. C’mon, Piper, you’ve known me for years. You know Mary Beth and I are devoted to each other.”
“That’s what I thought until I recognized your cuff links on the man with his arm around Shirley in the photo on the memory board. Judging from the argument I overheard in the cloakroom, I know Mary Beth recognized them, too.”
He studied me over steepled fingers. His expression hardened, leaving no trace of the affable man I’d considered a friend. “What if, for the sake of argument, Shirley and I were having an affair? That doesn’t automatically make me her killer.”
“Did either you or Shirley attempt to end the relationship? Is that what set things in motion?”
“You’ve overstayed your welcome, Piper. I suggest you leave.”
“Do you have an alibi for the time Shirley was killed?” I fired off one final question before he could bodily evict me.
“None of your damn business.” His face flushed an ugly shade of red. “Get out! Now!”
I left the office with as much dignity as I could muster. Even with a carload of possible suspects, Matt Wainwright was in the driver’s seat.
CHAPTER 19
“HEY, HONEYBUN. YOU’LL never believe what happened.” Reba Mae flounced in, plopped herself down on the edge of the counter, and pouted. “My hot-water tank quit workin’ smack dab’n the middle of the afternoon.”
“Oh no! That’s awful!” I stopped watering my collection of herbs—herbs that, by the way, were rapidly outgrowing their tiny pots—to sympathize with my BFF’s catastrophe.
“Had to cancel the rest of my appointments. Let me tell you, Mary Lou was one unhappy camper when I called to give her the news.”
“What are you going to do?” I plucked a yellowing leaf from a pot of parsley. “I’d suggest having Ned Feeney take a look, but he gave himself a concussion while replacing my garbage disposal. No telling what he might do with a hot-water heater. Don’t want an explosion at the Klassy Kut.”
“I called the store where I bought it, but they can’t send a repairman till Monday.” She cast a look at my container garden–to-be and pulled a face. “Those poor things are in need of some tender, lovin’ care, not to mention a heap of dirt and a place in the sun.”
I heaved a sigh. “I know. My dream of growing and selling fresh herbs ended when CJ threatened me with a citation for obstruction of public walkways.”
“He gets elected mayor, he’ll be writin’ so many citations he’ll end up with that carmel tunnel thing like my cousin Jake.”
I tried not to smile. “I believe it’s called ‘carpal’ not ‘carmel’ tunnel.”
“Whatever, it ain’t good. The doctor messed up the operation and now Jake’s third finger is permanently pointin’, you know.…”
I grimaced at the visual. “Not a good way to make friends.”
Reba Mae nodded solemnly. “Poor guy. He’s gotten into more’n one bar fight at High Cotton ’cause of that durn finger.”
I tested the soil in a pot of cilantro and noted it could stand more water. “Have you decided what you’re wearing to Mavis’s cocktail party tonight?”
“Was gonna wear my little black dress, but Shirley’s funeral was yesterday. It’s against my religi
on to wear the same color twice in one week.” She crossed one long leg over the other and let one shoe dangle. “Now that I got some time on my hands, I’m thinkin’ of cookin’ up a mess of tomato sauce with some Italian sausage. My boys have been cravin’ lasagna. It’ll make a nice Sunday supper. Sauce always tastes better if I make it a day ahead, gives the flavors a chance to get better acquainted.”
“You’re in luck then.” I set my watering can aside. “My latest shipment of spices arrived this morning, which included oregano and basil. No self-respecting lasagna sauce is made without the dynamic duo.”
“You had me at oregano.”
I foraged through a box the UPS driver had delivered but I’d failed to unpack. “What’s your pleasure?” I asked, holding up two jars of oregano. “Turkish or Mexican?”
“Turkish,” Reba Mae replied after a second’s hesitation.
“Mexican’s better!” growled a whiskey-rough voice. We both looked up in time to see Hoyt remove his motorcycle helmet as he strolled into Spice It Up! “I’m partial to Mexican, less sweet, but still strong.”
Reba Mae smirked. “I always use Turkish for pasta dishes. It’s sweet and strong.”
“If you ever tried my chili, darlin’, you’d know why I favor Mexican.” Hoyt smirked right back. “When you sample my guacamole, you’ll think you died and went to heaven.”
“Once you taste my lasagna, you’ll switch to Turkish oregano in a heartbeat.”
“Deal.” Hoyt grinned broadly, showing a glint of gold filling. “Let me know the time and place.”
“How about Sunday? Six o’clock.”
“You’re on.”
Well, well, well. Hoyt and my bestie flirting? In spite of their age difference, I should have seen that one coming, but I hadn’t. I’d felt like a spectator at a Ping-Pong match during their exchange. Hoyt agreed so readily my jaw dropped. It’d be interesting to see how this played out, but if the biker dude hurt my friend’s feelings he’d have to answer to me.
“Guess I’d better get cookin’ since company’s comin’.” Reba Mae slid from the counter and sashayed out the door. I noticed the exaggerated sway in her hips, but, from the expression on Hoyt’s face, he seemed to appreciate the scenery.
“Told you once, I was partial to redheads,” Hoyt reminded me. “Your friend looks mighty fine with her hair that dark, auburn color.”
“My friend looks ‘mighty fine’ with her hair any color of the rainbow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoyt said with a good-natured wink. “I’m partial to rainbows, too.”
I laughed. “Hoyt, you just might’ve met your match. Now, what brought you into my shop this afternoon?”
“Need some juniper berries. The ones I have don’t smell fresh, so it’s time to replace them. Better give me a small jar of cardamom while you’re at it.”
“Plan to do some cooking and baking, I see.”
“Like to keep busy, experiment with new recipes.”
I was on tiptoe reaching for the cardamom, which was on a top shelf, when the door opened and another customer entered. “Be right with you!” I called out.
“Take your time,” McBride said. “I’m in no rush.”
Surprised at his presence, I fumbled the jar of cardamom but managed to catch it before it crashed to the floor.
At the sound of his favorite lawman’s voice, Casey aroused himself from a nap in the storeroom and trotted over to greet McBride with a pathetic display of affection. McBride didn’t disappoint my mutt but stooped to rub him behind his ear, sending the little dog into a paroxysm of pleasure.
“Anything else?” I asked Hoyt upon returning to the counter.
“That ought to do it.” He peeled off a twenty-dollar bill from the cash he kept in his money clip, then nodded at the carton of herbs. “What’s with all the plants sitting there?”
“I planned to start a container garden on the sidewalk and sell fresh herbs.”
McBride frowned. “Planned…?”
“CJ spouted a city ordinance about cluttering and put an end to my idea.” I rang up the sale. “I’m not sure what to do now.”
“I’ve got plenty of land if you’re looking for a garden plot,” McBride offered.
Hoyt accepted the change I handed him. “Heck, I’ll even rototill it for you if you can wait until Monday.”
“Great,” McBride and I answered in unison.
“Okeydokey, then. Looks like you’re in the herb-growing business.” Hoyt stuffed his purchases into a zippered pouch of his jacket. With a jaunty salute and a self-satisfied smile, he sauntered out.
Conscious of McBride watching me, I went about the business of unpacking and sorting the spices I’d ordered from a supplier, baking and barbecue to one side, ethnic on the other. I was increasingly aware of the pheromones that sparked between us. McBride’s testosterone beckoned to my estrogen. Casey sensing the energy, too, sat on his haunches, head cocked, button-brown eyes bright.
“You’re starting to make me nervous, McBride. Seeing how you’re on suspension, are you getting up courage to ask for a part-time job?” I stuffed the wrapping paper used to cushion the order back into the box. “I could use a little extra help now and then until Melly returns from her honeymoon. Do you come with references?”
A small smile played around his mouth. He picked up a jar of crystallized ginger, examined it, then set it down. “I like my salt salty and my pepper black. Will that do?”
“Gotta start somewhere. Nothing wrong with a clean slate.” Gathering an assortment of jars, I moved toward a row of shelves with McBride trailing. “Your happening by saves me a phone call. I discovered who Shirley was having an affair with.”
An alertness entered his cool blue eyes in variance with his casual demeanor. “This person have a name?”
“Matt Wainwright, CJ’s law partner.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “Positive.”
“How did you happen upon this bit of information? “
“Aw shucks,” I said with a sassy grin. “Nothing Nancy Drew couldn’t have done.”
He took a jar of cloves from me and set it on a shelf next to the Vietnamese cinnamon. “Mind enlightening me? I had to relinquish my crystal ball along with my badge.”
“Blame it on the memory board at Shirley’s funeral.” An unruly curl fell across my brow, and I blew it away impatiently only to have it spring back. “One photo showed Shirley with a man’s arm around her waist. I recognized the cuff links as the same ones Matt was wearing. Then, before leaving the reception, I overheard an argument between Matt and his wife, so Mary Beth made the connection, too.”
“Lots of married couples argue,” he countered. “Mary Beth might’ve been mad at her husband for forgetting to take out the trash. Or maybe he didn’t throw his dirty socks in the laundry hamper.”
“CJ used to put his dirty coffee cups in the dishwasher with the clean dishes so I’d have to run an entire cycle over again. It drove me bonkers.”
“So,” he drawled, his accent as sweet as a Georgia peach, “finally the real reason behind your divorce.”
“The real reason”—I scowled—“is a long-legged brunette with a fondness for short skirts and older men.”
“From what I’ve observed, Amber and CJ are two peas in a pod. They deserve each other.”
“Back to the business of Matt and Shirley, I heard Mary Beth say the cuff links were one of a kind.”
“Even if the man in the photo is Matt, that makes him an adulterer, not murderer.”
“I know. Motive, means, and opportunity—and the greatest of these is motive. Maybe Shirley became tired of sneaking around. Maybe she wanted to take their relationship to the next level. Maybe she threatened to tell Mary Beth?”
McBride massaged the back of his neck. “Too many maybes and what-ifs to make a solid case.”
“Like you said, you gotta start somewhere.” Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned against a row of shelve
s and gazed up at him. “My crystal ball is out of commission, too, McBride. Care to tell me what really brought you here?”
“You’re not the only one who’s done a bit of investigating. A friend of mine is a PI. I called in a favor. Had him do some background checks into Kirby and Elaine Dixon. Asked him to see what he could dig up.”
McBride braced his arm on the shelf behind me, so close my hair brushed his forearm. My breath hitched in my throat. “So what did your friend find out?” I asked in a voice that didn’t sound quite like my own.
“Kirby Dixon comes from money. After his father died, he used the money to more than double his inheritance. Before his retirement, he owned a string of car dealerships throughout central New York State. These proved a very lucrative business. On a personal note, this isn’t the first marriage for either of the Dixons. This is Kirby’s third, Elaine’s second. The man’s no fool. He insisted on an airtight pre-nup before their wedding.”
“What about Elaine? What kind of work did she do before her marriage?”
McBride shot a sidelong glance at Casey, who was snoozing on the floor nearby. “You’re not going to believe this. “A hint of a smile played around his mouth. “Elaine was a dog groomer. She and Kirby met when she came to his house to clip and trim his poodle.”
“Dog groomer to wife. That’s quite a promotion.”
“There’s more.” He paused a beat. “Elaine has a record. She served jail time some years back for larceny.”
I gasped. “No way!”
McBride nodded solemnly. “I don’t know for certain if Kirby was aware of this, but he did have an iron-clad pre-nup in place.”
I shook my head, trying to digest everything McBride had just told me. “Being in love can have a strange effect on usually rational people.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said softly.
Reaching out, McBride brushed the obstinate curl from my brow. Instead of releasing it, however, he rubbed the strand between his thumb and forefinger, taking his sweet time examining the hue, savoring the texture. Again, he had an untoward effect on my respiration. My breathing slowed; my pulse raced; my lips parted. A powerful magnet seemed to be drawing us closer … and closer … until his mouth was a hairsbreadth from mine.
