by Gail Oust
Suddenly the door to the shop burst open. “Surprise!”
Startled, we jerked apart. Seconds later the newcomer caught me up in a bear hug.
“Doug!” I extricated myself from the exuberant embrace and stepped back. I’m certain my face mirrored both shock and surprise. Doug Winters, mild-mannered vet, previous owner of Pets ’R People, and former boyfriend, smiled, obviously pleased with my reaction. Doug’s prematurely silver hair was in stark contrast to a boyish face. Reba Mae once compared him to George Clooney, but personally I didn’t see the resemblance.
“Let me look at you,” he said, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re as pretty as ever.”
I felt myself blush, painfully aware of McBride dissecting every nuance of Doug’s effusive greeting. We’d been considered a couple until late last fall when he’d moved back to Chicago to be closer to his daughter. Although I hadn’t been in “love” with Doug, I’d definitely been in “like.”
McBride cleared his throat, drawing Doug’s attention, and the two men shook hands. “Nice to see you again, Doug. Plan to stick around for a while?”
“Only until Monday,” Doug explained. “I fly home that afternoon. I’m here only long enough to close the deal on my veterinary practice.”
“I thought that was completed ages ago,” I said.
“Financing for the new owners took longer than anticipated, but Zach VanFleet at Creekside Savings called to say he’d gotten final approval from the bank. Vicki knew I was coming and finagled me an invite to Mavis Gray’s party this evening. I expect I’ll see you there, McBride.”
To his credit, McBride’s expression gave nothing away. As he was the reigning pariah, his name had been excluded from the social register. “Can’t make it, I’m afraid.”
Doug shook his head. “What was I thinking? As a police chief with a death to investigate, you have a lot more pressing matters than a cocktail party.”
“There’s been a recent change,” McBride said, his voice void of emotion. “Beau Tucker is acting chief of police.”
Silence stretched like a wad of Dubble Bubble on the sole of a sneaker. “How well did you know Shirley, Doug?” I finally asked, jumping into the breach.
Doug removed his rimless eyeglasses and polished the lenses. “Shirley brokered the sale of Pets ’R People when I bought it. Naturally, she was the first person I called when I decided to sell and return to Illinois. Hearing she died came as quite a shock. Is it true she committed suicide?”
“It’s under investigation,” McBride said, then turned and stalked out.
Doug looked puzzled but didn’t pursue the issue. After extracting a promise from me to dine with him the following evening, he left to check into the Turner-Driscoll House and freshen up before tonight’s party.
CHAPTER 20
LIGHTS BLAZED IN all the windows of the two-story Colonial. Mavis had referred to her get-together as a meet and greet. She was pulling out all the stops, determined to prove to the Dixons that Brandywine Creek was the greatest little town this side of paradise. She stubbornly refused to acknowledge that a mere week ago one of its citizens had been murdered.
I followed the walkway to Mavis’s covered porch lit by the light from a crescent moon. I didn’t bother ringing the doorbell. The sound wouldn’t have been heard over the loud buzz of conversation. The decibel level increased as I stepped into the small foyer. Mavis magically appeared and took my wrap, then directed me to the refreshments.
The floor plan was similar to those of many Colonials. Living room on the right, dining room on the left, kitchen in the rear. Smiling and nodding, I threaded my way through the guests. I spotted Reba Mae in the dining room, trying to fit as many hors d’oeuvres as possible on a small plate.
“I think they make these plates tiny on purpose,” she complained. She wedged a stuffed mushroom next to a pile of shrimp, which were nestled next to meatballs and a crab cake. Then, for good measure, she added cheese straws and a bacon-wrapped chicken tender. “This oughta hold me till it’s time for dessert.”
“I haven’t jogged lately, so I need to go easy on the calories.” I helped myself to some fruit along with crackers and a couple cubes of cheese. I really wanted a nice glass of wine but never perfected the technique of juggling hors d’oeuvres and a wineglass without spilling.
“Can you believe I’m gonna have a gentleman caller for Sunday night supper?” Reba Mae dragged a shrimp through a puddle of cocktail sauce. “I was hopin’ Hoyt might be here tonight but don’t see him anywhere.”
“Slow down, girlfriend. Sunday night will come quick enough. You don’t want to scare off a potential suitor.”
“I don’t think Hoyt’s the type who scares easily. Can tell that by lookin’ at him. Sissies don’t ride Harleys.”
“And real men eat quiche.”
“Hoyt is the most interestin’ fellow I’ve met since…”
“… since your last admirer turned out to be in the witness protection program?” I supplied.
“You’re leavin’ out the good part—his Mafia connection.”
“My bad.”
“OMG!” Reba Mae caught my arm. “You’ll never guess who just walked in.”
A glance over my shoulder confirmed Reba Mae’s eyesight was still 20/20. “Doug visited Spice It Up! earlier today,” I explained. “He wanted to surprise me—and succeeded.”
“See, what did I tell you?” She grinned.“I knew he’d be missin’ you and hightailin’ it back soon as he realized the error of his ways.”
I rolled my eyes. “You ought to try your hand at writing romance novels. Doug’s here to close on the sale of Pets ’R People. He’s flying back to Chicago Monday afternoon.”
“Too bad. Once upon a time, I had high hopes for the two of you.” She pointed a cheese straw at a man talking to Vicki. “Who’s he? I saw him at the funeral but didn’t recognize him.”
“Colin Flynn,” I said. “He’s new in town. Shirley was supposed to show him some houses.”
“He looks like a college professor, geeky but in a nice sort of way. Think I’ll introduce myself. If things don’t work out with Hoyt…”
“Reba Mae, he’s way too young for you.”
“Grrr!” she growled. “I might become one of them tiger ladies who like younger men.”
“Cougars,” I corrected, but her mischievous grin set my mind at ease.
Doug appeared at my side holding two wineglasses. “I assume you still like your wine white and your chocolate dark?”
I gratefully accepted a glass. Now I was confronted with the dilemma I’d tried to avoid—food or drink? Opting in favor of a beverage, I set the plate on an end table. “You look as though being a Yankee again agrees with you,” I remarked after taking a sip of wine.
“Being back in Illinois is almost as though I never left,” he admitted. “I sure won’t miss the heat and humidity of Georgia summers.”
“But the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is, would you trade them for Chicago winters?”
“If it means keeping my daughter happy, then the answer is yes.” He surveyed the guests, nodding and smiling at those he recognized. “I couldn’t believe the news when I heard Shirley died. I was even more surprised to learn McBride’s been suspended.”
“Her death is being treated as a homicide—with McBride the number one suspect.”
Doug let out a low whistle. “Were McBride and Shirley an item?”
“The two of them had a quasi relationship and, since McBride doesn’t have a solid alibi, he’s considered a person of interest. It doesn’t help matters any that her body was found on his property.”
Doug’s brow furrowed. “Do you think it’s wise spending time with him until things are sorted out?”
“Doug Winters!” I scolded. “I gave you more credit as a judge of character. You ought to know better than to think McBride had anything to do with Shirley’s death.”
He had the grace to look shamefaced. We chatted about the we
ather, our children, our jobs, but avoided the more personal. In the past, talk always flowed freely; now, however, it seemed … awkward. I already dreaded keeping the conversation ball afloat during our dinner date tomorrow night.
“I’m still having a hard time believing Shirley’s dead,” he said, staring into his wineglass as though expecting to find answers
“Can you recall the last time you spoke to her?”
“A couple weeks ago, I guess. She called to tell me a date had been set for the closing.” He sipped his wine, a faraway look in his eyes. “I still recall a conversation we had just before I left Brandywine Creek.”
Something in his tone caused the needle of my curiosity meter to twitch. “Tell me about it,” I said.
“Shirley knew I wasn’t an MD but wanted my medical opinion anyway. Seems a friend of hers has a heart problem. Apparently this ‘friend’ read a magazine article that said a preliminary study from some university suggested ginger is helpful in certain cardiac conditions. When I assured Shirley that the friend’s condition could be easily controlled with medication, she seemed relieved.”
“Hmm. I don’t suppose this friend of hers had a name.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I assumed he, or she, might have been a client.”
“Probably,” I sighed, disappointed. Another piece of useless information? Another dead end?
Vicki glanced over in our direction and motioned for Doug to join her. “Better go find out what she wants,” Doug said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Matt and Mary Beth, I observed, were among the last guests to arrive. Neither appeared to be happy breathing the same air as the other. After briefly greeting their hostess, they gravitated to opposite ends of the house. Matt singled out Kirby Dixon at the buffet table while Mary Beth joined Gerilee Barker and Amber, who were huddled in a corner of the living room.
“Done with your plate, Miz Prescott?” asked a tall, attractive young woman with skin the color of café au lait. She indicated the unfinished plate of hors d’oeuvres I’d set on an end table.
“Lakeisha!” I said, instantly recognizing my son’s former high school classmate. She and her auntie, Precious Blessing, shared the same bright smile and sunny disposition. “Georgia Southern know you’re home for the weekend?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Gray called my momma and said she could use help serving.” She stacked my plate on a tray she carried. “A friend told me Chad is thinking about taking a gap year before starting med school.”
My brain froze. A gap year? Did that mean what I thought it did?
“My friend,” Lakeisha continued, unaware I’d been mortally wounded, “said Chad wants to backpack around Europe.”
Speech deserted me. I drained my wine, then snatched another from Lakeisha’s tray. My son, the nose-to-the-grindstone student, planned to delay his education in favor of becoming a vagabond in a foreign country?
“Nice seeing you, Miz Prescott.” Lakeisha smiled and moved on.
Did CJ know what our boy was contemplating? I needed to find out—the quicker the better. My gaze darted from group to group until I found my ex at the makeshift bar, his hand plastered to the small of Amber’s waist. Much as it pained me to admit, Amber looked stunning in a formfitting red dress that showed off her assets—both God given and man-made.
I advanced like a determined General Patton leading his troops across France and tapped CJ on the shoulder. “We need to talk.”
“Darlin’, judgin’ from your tone—and the look on your face—this is hardly the time or place for a showdown. Why not call my office for an appointment like most folks.”
Amber gave me a smile sweet enough to induce a diabetic coma. “Now that CJ’s actin’ mayor, he hardly has a minute’s peace without bein’ perstered for favors.”
“Boo-hoo!” I snapped. “CJ, did you know Chad intends to take a year off before entering med school?”
“The boy might have mentioned it in passin’.” CJ accepted a glass of Wild Turkey from the bartender. “I told him he deserved time off to sow some wild oats.”
My voice rose. “You actually encouraged our son to drop out of school and backpack across Europe?”
CJ forced a smile. “Not just Europe, Scooter darlin’, Chad wants to visit Thailand and India, too.”
My head was reeling; whether from the news or downing too much wine too quickly I didn’t know.
“Chad has a girlfriend, you know.” Amber smiled slyly. “She’s French. Her name’s Brielle. I think he’s in love.”
“Why am I the last to know?” I asked, though I didn’t expect an answer.
I didn’t need CJ or Amber to explain what I already knew. Chad didn’t want to confide in me because he didn’t want to deal with my reaction. I felt heartsick at the idea of him abandoning the hopes and dreams he’d worked so hard for. Love shouldn’t make you less; it should make you more. Yet I’d dropped out of college before my senior year to marry his father and support him through law school. Next came two children whom I adored. During the ensuing years, I devoted myself to being the best wife and mother possible. How could I criticize my son for being blinded by love when I had done the same?
“Fine,” I said at last to CJ. “We’ll talk later.”
Amber tugged on CJ’s arm. “C’mon, Pooh Bear,” she simpered. “We need to mingle.”
No longer in the mood for a party, I went in search of my wrap. While daytime temperatures were pleasant, evenings required a sweater or light jacket. Tonight, I’d chosen my favorite paisley shawl to ward off the chill. Mavis had taken it from me when I arrived. My best chance of finding it was in an upstairs bedroom.
I had no sooner retrieved it from a pile of garments on a bed in a guest room and started down a hallway toward the stairs when I met Elaine Dixon coming out of the powder room. Elaine had dressed for her role as guest of honor in an apricot silk cocktail dress. Diamonds sparkled in the studs in her ears and from the eternity necklace circling her throat.
“Damn inconvenient having your guests climb a flight of stairs to freshen up,” she complained.
“It’s a problem with a lot of older homes.”
Elaine smoothed her pencil-slim skirt. “In my opinion, these fossils make better museums than homes. Shirley kept trying to sweet-talk Kirby into buying a house in your historic district. It made me furious listening to her raving on and on about it.”
“I gather that you didn’t like Shirley very much.”
“What’s to like? She was a beautiful woman who wouldn’t hesitate to use it to her advantage. I saw the way she flirted with my husband. She was doing her best to persuade him to buy a business and settle here. Never in my life did I picture myself the wife of a hardware store owner in a town so small you need a magnifying glass in order to find it on a map.”
“Do you miss being a dog groomer?” I don’t know what made me ask, but the words seemed to pop out of their own volition.
Elaine’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Under skillfully applied foundation, her complexion turned an ugly red that clashed with her apricot-colored dress. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she fairly spit between clenched teeth.
I’d poked a sleeping bear with a sharp stick. Not a wise move on my part. I edged around her toward the stairs. “On the contrary, Elaine, you know exactly what I’m talking about. If Shirley and I could find out about your past, surely others can, too.” I’d made a wild stab in the dark about Shirley discovering Elaine’s past. Since she was reputed to be a savvy businesswoman, it might not be too farfetched to think she’d done a background check.
“Shirley, the bitch, thought she could use my former occupation against me.” Elaine jabbed me in the chest with the sharp tip of a manicured nail, and I instinctively grabbed the banister. “Well, Shirley was wrong. I warned her to back off; now I’m warning you. Don’t tangle with me, spice girl. I can fight dirty if I have to, so don’t get in my way.”
I fled down the stairs, the pu
lse pounding in my ears. Elaine Dixon had revealed herself as a formidable enemy. There was a moment when I’d feared she’d actually shove and send me tumbling down the steps. She was livid that I knew she’d been a dog groomer. What would her reaction be like if she knew I’d learned about her criminal past?
And what lengths would Kirby Dixon go to in order to shield his wife from a murder charge?
I drove home in a daze. Lindsey still hadn’t returned from the movies by the time I arrived home. My encounter with Elaine had left me more shaken than I cared to admit. I’d glimpsed a side of the woman, I’ll wager, only a select few ever saw. Combine a mean, vindictive streak with a hot temper and it added up to a dangerous woman. I could easily envision Elaine tossing a high-powered hair dryer into a woman’s bathtub—and afterwards persuading her husband to help cover up the crime.
After exchanging my party duds for a comfy nightshirt, I curled up on the sofa with a cup of herbal tea. Casey jumped on board and made himself comfy near my feet. In my hurry to leave, I’d neglected to say good-bye to Doug, so I’d have to apologize over dinner tomorrow. I replayed my conversation with him. He’d remembered Shirley’s concern for a friend with a heart condition and how relieved she’d been when he reassured her it could be easily controlled with medication.
Medication…?
I jumped from the sofa so suddenly my tea sloshed in the cup. Casey raised one ear and regarded me with a puzzled look. After rummaging through my purse, I resettled on the sofa with my laptop and a brown plastic pill vial. It was the vial I’d taken from Shirley Randolph’s medicine cabinet. Clicking on my browser, I carefully typed in the generic name of the drug. Numerous references instantly appeared on the screen. I clicked on a link belonging to a prominent pharmaceutical company and discovered the mystery drug was classified as a beta-blocker. Further research revealed it was frequently prescribed for people with an irregular heartbeat.
