by J. R. Ripley
Donna and Andy considered what they sold to be normal, real food, and that calling it ‘health food’ implied that it was something other than normal.
The two of them considered the stuff that regular supermarkets sold to be the unnatural, unhealthy stuff. In fact, they had a name for such places: food factory outlets.
Personally, I’m not so particular. As a matter of fact, I could have gone for another pint of Safeway’s finest vanilla ice cream about now. All that smoke was still torturing my trachea. I rubbed my throat for good measure.
‘I’ll have to check it out sometime.’
‘You should,’ I replied. ‘Try the veggie haggis.’ He said he would. Sucker.
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle, then paused. ‘Seeing as how you’re a reporter,’ I began, ‘what can you tell me about Rick Wilbur?’
Brad’s hands rested atop the steering wheel. ‘Not much. Wilbur Realty is about the biggest advertiser the Table Rock Reader’s got. Other than that …’ He shrugged.
I could believe it. I’d seen page after page of real estate listings in the paper. ‘No skeletons in Rick Wilbur’s closest, eh?’
He smiled. ‘Not that I know of. Why?’
‘Because I’m trying to figure out who killed the guy. Contrary to what seems to be popular opinion,’ I looked at him hard, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Hey.’ He shifted his body toward mine. ‘I never said you did. I’m only doing my job.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So what have you managed to find out?’
A smile filled Brad’s face. ‘You’re asking if I’ve uncovered any fact that might be pertinent to Rick Wilbur’s murder?’
My eyes said I was.
Brad’s hands drummed the dark dash. ‘Nothing. Mr Wilbur’s time of death is within a two- to three-hour window and it seems that anybody, including you, is a suspect in the eyes of the Table Rock PD. Where were you, by the way?’ Brad asked point-blank.
I frowned. ‘Running errands. Then home.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘No. What about you?’ Two could play this game.
‘Covering a wedding.’
‘A wedding?’ This was interesting.
‘The marriage of Faith Parker and Jaxon Johnson.’ Brad’s hands strung a make-believe banner in the air between us. ‘I was there all night. The ceremony took place at the Enchantment Resort in Sedona.’
OK, that might be true. But I wondered if Johnny and/or Clive had been there as well. They were in the wedding business, after all. ‘What about Clive Rothschild or Johnny Wolfe? Were they at the wedding?’
‘The guys from the bridal shop?’
I nodded.
‘I’m not sure.’ Brad scratched his cheek. ‘Should they have been?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied in frustration. Did wedding gown and accessory sellers attend the weddings of their clients? Had Faith Parker even been a client? ‘Clive was with me when I discovered the body. Johnny was seen arguing with Rick recently. I found a Wilbur Realty pen in their storeroom when I was poking around.’
‘You were poking around in the back of The Hitching Post? I’m impressed.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘I got caught.’
His eyes grew. ‘What happened?’
I explained how I thought Johnny was going to kill me. Brad shook his head in disbelief. ‘Did you tell the police?’
I lifted a shoulder. ‘Nah. What could I tell them?’ It was all rather nebulous. I couldn’t prove anything.
‘I’d be careful if I were you. Maybe Johnny Wolfe, maybe somebody else, but somebody might be trying to put you out of commission – permanently. It will be interesting to learn what the police and the fire department conclude regarding that AC unit.’
Finally, maybe somebody besides my immediately family believed me. But did it have to be this obnoxious reporter?
I threw open the car door and put a foot on the curb.
‘There is one thing,’ Brad said.
I stuck my head back in the car. ‘What’s that?’
‘This is strictly confidential,’ he said. ‘My buddy would kill me if he knew I was passing along privileged information.’
‘So let’s not tell him.’
Brad nodded. ‘I have this friend, an old college roommate, actually. He works for a large insurance company down in Phoenix.’
‘And?’
‘And he says Mrs Wilbur is about to become a very wealthy woman.’
Well, well. ‘I wonder if the police know.’
‘Probably,’ answered Brad. ‘My guess is that checking out the surviving spouse and how much they might gain is standard operating procedure.’
Brad was probably right. But this still bore further looking into. ‘What can you tell me about Mr Wilbur’s ex, Caitie Conklin?’
Brad’s brows went up. ‘She cuts a mean head of hair, if you can afford her.’ He ran a hand through his locks. ‘Personally, I go to the barber. She’s been in trouble with the police a time or two, but nothing significant.’
‘Such as?’ I dropped my suitcase and rested my arms against the roof of the Accord.
Brad shrugged. ‘Fights with customers mostly. I hear you don’t want to get on her wrong side and that she has no good side.’ He laughed. ‘Another time, I remember she and Rick nearly came to blows. The police came out and broke up the argument before either of them did any real damage. She packs a mean right.’
And a mean rolling pin? I wondered. I picked up my suitcase. ‘Goodnight, Brad.’
‘Wait a sec—’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re open till three tomorrow, right?’
‘That’s right.’ My right foot had fallen asleep and I swung it in small circles.
‘So you want to get some dinner after? Let’s say six?’
My mouth was hanging open for the flies again. Thank goodness they sleep at night. At least I hoped they did. ‘Are you asking me out?’
Brad smiled, the gap between his teeth glinting off the streetlight. Oh, brother, I hadn’t realized before how much his smile reminded me of Brian’s.
‘Thanks for the ride,’ I said, turning on my heel and hightailing it to my sister’s door before I said something I might regret.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I didn’t know what had shaken me more, almost being burned to death in my own bed or Brad Smith asking me out on a date.
Whichever it was, as I turned the key in my sister’s lock and wiped my feet on the mat, my knees turned to jelly and my hands quickly followed. The suitcase fell from my grip and thwacked the hardwood floor.
I muttered a curse, picked up my bag and tiptoed toward the sofa. My nerves were frayed to gossamer threads. My eyes and throat were still feeling the effects of all that smoke.
‘What’s going on out here?’ Andy stood in the doorway between the living room and his and Donna’s bedroom.
My heart jumped to my mouth. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’
Andy stepped closer, stifling a yawn with the back of his closed hand. He wore yellow-and-blue striped pajama bottoms and a University of Northern Arizona sleeveless T-shirt. ‘Are you OK, Maggie?’ He shot a glance toward the boys’ rooms, then lowered his voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
Seeing him there, all warm and caring, the house snug and inviting, something in me collapsed like the wall of a sandcastle against the incoming tide.
‘I think I’m in over my head,’ I said softly, listening to the gentle click-click of the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room. I wiped a tear from the edge of my eye with a pinkie.
‘You want to tell me about it?’ Andy padded over the rug in bare feet.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon get some sleep.’ I set my suitcase beside the sofa and sat. ‘We can talk about it in the morning.’
‘Sure thing,’ said Andy.
‘Oh, no you don’t.’
I lo
oked up. ‘Hey, Sis.’
‘I’ll fetch a pillow and some blankets.’ Andy left the room.
Donna sat beside me on the couch, our knees touching. ‘You tell me what’s going on right this minute.’
I knew better than to argue when Donna got like this. Heck, if I didn’t start talking she might start feeding me. Who knew what she had in the refrigerator? Veggie rattlesnake, maybe?
‘There was a fire at my apartment.’
‘A fire!’ Donna gasped. ‘Maggie, are you sure you’re OK?’ She grabbed my arms above the wrists.
‘A small fire,’ I said. ‘A very small fire. More of a giant smoke bomb, really.’
Donna’s face scrunched up in apparent confusion.
‘It started in my bedroom. The fire department thinks the AC unit shorted out or something.’
‘Oh, Maggie.’ Donna shook her head.
Andy returned and dropped a pillow and blanket behind me on the couch. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘you can stay here as long as you need.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Donna. ‘I’m sure the boys will love having you.’
Sure, so they could torture me more facilely. ‘It’s only for tonight – maybe two nights,’ I replied. ‘My landlords …’ Why was I having trouble saying that word? ‘My landlords promised me they’d get the wall patched up ASAP and a new air conditioner put in.’
Andy fell into the recliner across from the sofa. ‘So it was an accident?’ His face showed concern. And a need for sleep. The poor guy usually gets up with the chickens. In this case, literally, since they gather the fresh eggs then.
‘Well—’
‘What?’ said Donna, edging closer.
I shrugged. ‘What if it wasn’t an accident? What if somebody is trying to—’ I glanced down the hall toward Connor and Hunter’s rooms. ‘Shut me up for good.’ I told them all about my suspicions regarding Rob and Trish Gregory, Tommy Henson and his mom, Patti Wilbur and even Johnny Wolfe and Clive Rothschild.
‘And I still have to interview Caitie Conklin, Rick’s ex, over at Salon de Belleza.’ Despite my nerves, I felt my eyelids sagging.
Andy and Donna shared a look. ‘I’ll see what I can find out about the cause of the fire tomorrow,’ Andy promised. He stood. ‘Until then,’ he yawned, ‘I think it would be best if we all got some sleep.’ He stepped over and tousled my hair. ‘You look like you could use it.’
‘You’re safe here,’ my sister said. ‘And we’re going to have to have a long talk about all this nosing around you’re doing. Whether someone is out to shut you up or not, I don’t know. I do know that if you keep poking your nose into other people’s business, well, there are some people who may take a strong dislike to that. They may be willing to do whatever it takes to stop you.’
‘And,’ said Andy, picking up the thread of his wife’s tale, ‘if it turns out your air conditioner was tampered with, that would mean somebody has access to your apartment. And they mean business.’
I nodded slowly. Not exactly the most soothing bedtime story I’d ever been told. As Donna and Andy retreated to their room, I stretched out on the sofa and tossed the blanket over my legs. The most obvious suspects with the key to my apartment would be the Gregorys. After all, they owned the entire fourplex. But I figured just about anybody could get into the apartment if they’d a mind to.
Plus, who knew how many previous renters might still be running around with a key to my door? How often did the lock get changed? Had it ever been changed? Was there any way I could learn who any of those previous tenants might have been? Asking the Gregorys was probably out of the question.
I thought it might be good to sleep with one eye open, just in case. Unfortunately, the eye I’d left in charge wasn’t cooperating.
I woke to see two glowing green eyes boring into me. A cold hand clutched my right arm. I stiffened.
‘Mom, what are you doing here?’
Mom’s hand went to my forehead and rested there. Why, I wasn’t sure. I’d had a house fire, a small house fire, not a fever. I pulled her hand away. ‘Are you all right? Donna and Andy filled me in. I came as soon as I heard.’
I smelled pancakes and maple syrup coming from the kitchen. Thank goodness, normal food. Hopefully factory outlet food, like Aunt Jemima’s, bless her heart.
‘I’m fine, Mom.’ I sat up and rubbed the sand from my eyes. A little freaked out to be sure, but nothing a cup of coffee, a stack of pancakes, four ounces of maple syrup and a session with a psychiatrist couldn’t fix.
‘I can’t believe you spent the night on this sofa,’ Mom scolded me with her eyes, ‘when you know I have a perfectly good guest room at my condo.’
Oh, I knew all right. ‘It’s only for a day or two. Besides, it was the middle of the night. I didn’t want to disturb you.’
Mom rose, folding her arms over her chest. She was dressed casually in loose-fitting shorts and a white blouse. ‘Tonight you’re staying with me.’
I sat up and stretched, not quite with yoga grace, but it was something. ‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,’ I explained. ‘I’ll be back in my own place tonight.’
We were still debating my short-term living arrangements over breakfast.
‘Boy, breakfast sure smells great. Looks great, too!’ I said, peering over my sister’s shoulder as she flipped pancakes from the skillet to a large serving tray.
‘Mom always makes us pancakes on Sunday morning, Aunt Maggie,’ said Hunter.
‘Yeah,’ chimed in Connor. Both boys were still in the short PJs. ‘She says it’s an American tradition.’
‘Count me in.’ I pulled up a chair. ‘I’m famished.’ Andy brought an extra chair from the living room for Mom. I rose and grabbed the coffee pot.
‘Tell us about the fire, Aunt Maggie!’ Connor said, tightly clutching his fork.
‘Yeah, cool,’ said Hunter. ‘A fire.’
‘Boys,’ admonished Donna. ‘Please, Aunt Maggie could have been badly hurt.’
Connor looked half-confused and half-apologetic. ‘But she wasn’t. I mean, you weren’t, were you, Aunt Maggie?’
He looked at me, eyes wide, as if waiting to hear an exciting story of blazing buildings, policemen creating order out of mayhem and firemen chopping down doors with razor-sharp giant axes.
Unfortunately, I expected the biggest thrill the night before had been the embarrassing glimpses of me that all my neighbors and everybody else got seeing me prancing around in my underwear. The biggest damage to me personally was to my reputation.
I smiled. ‘The fire department came and put out the fire before it got out of control. It was cool to see all those flashing lights, though,’ I added for the boys’ benefit.
A phone chirped in the distance. ‘Sounds like my cell,’ Andy said. He rose from the table and went off to the bedroom to answer it.
I scooped two spoonfuls of sugar into my coffee and stirred as my sister served up breakfast.
The pancakes I’d been yearning for turned out to be a blend of whole wheat, pea and artichoke flour. That explained the unnatural greenish-brown color.
Even Aunt Jemima let me down – the woman was a no-show. The syrup was something called Magave, a combination of agave and maple syrups that Donna blended herself.
Words cannot begin to describe what breakfast tasted like, so I won’t even try. The good news was that I figured the meal had killed that rattlesnake that had been slithering around in my tummy since yesterday.
Andy returned. He glanced at my sister, then set his cell phone down on the kitchen counter. ‘That was the police,’ he said. He turned to me. ‘It looks like your AC unit was tampered with.’
I jerked in my chair, a forkful of pancake smothered in Magave halfway between my lips and my plate. ‘Then that means—’ I gulped.
Andy nodded. ‘Somebody tried to kill you.’
Mom screamed.
‘Wow!’ the boys shouted as one, looking at me with newfound respect.
Well, the good news was t
hat somebody had tampered with my air conditioner, somebody was trying to kill me … I could stick that in Detective Highsmith’s chiseled yet smug face. VV’s too.
The bad news was, well, somebody was trying to kill me!
TWENTY-EIGHT
Andy explained that the police and fire investigators had quickly found evidence of foul play once they’d cleaned the smoke smudges and debris from the unit. They’d discovered clear signs that the wiring had been tampered with. Andy said I was lucky I hadn’t burned to death or died of smoke inhalation.
Mom had immediately gone right off the deep end, insisting I get round-the-clock police protection. Donna insisted that Andy follow me around all day.
The boys, Connor and Hunter, pleaded that they be allowed to follow me around all day. I guess they wanted to be close by in case the killer decided to strike again.
I couldn’t blame them. Boys will be boys. And it wasn’t like they wanted to see anything bad happen to me. They just wanted some excitement. I mean, if those abominable Sunday morning pancakes were one of the best things they had to look forward to every week, then they were seriously excitement deprived.
I promised myself that I’d take them to that wild animal park that I’d heard about over in Camp Verde, let them feed a tiger or two and zip line over the alligators while tossing down chicken parts.
I also promised Donna I would not let the boys tag along with me when I went to work. I told Andy I did not need an official escort; the poor man had better things to do with his time.
I explained to Mom that I most definitely did not need round-the-clock protection. ‘Besides,’ I said, knowing it would end the argument, ‘I’ve got this!’ I tugged at the crystal around my neck. ‘What more protection do I need?’
Mom nodded as if that had meant something. See what I mean?
Without the Schwinn, which was still back at the apartment, I did accept a ride to Maggie’s Beignet Café from Andy after breakfast. ‘You want me to come in with you? Make sure everything is OK inside?’ Andy’s eyes swept over the storefront and up and down the quiet street.
